Transformers Prime: Apocrypha
by QuantumSheep
Summary: It has been nine years since life was restored to Cybertron. A Decepticon warlord appears on Earth intending to negotiate peace with the Autobots. Jack Darby finds himself with conflicted loyalties, while Wheeljack seizes upon a chance to get back in action, only for things to spiral out of control. Differing ideologies will collide, with serious consequences.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_Memory alteration operations are delicate and considered 'barbaric' by some, as altering one's very character brings with it a certain moral dubiousness that has fuelled debates ever since the invention of the technology to carry out such a procedure. Nonetheless, there are reports of some of these procedures being conducted, though few are completely successful. The technology itself is not widespread and prohibitively expensive to acquire. Rumours circulate that certain higher organizations, some within Iacon, keep such technology hidden away until such a dire situation arises that it must be put to use._

-Excerpt from "The Iacon Medical Journal, 37th Iteration", some years prior to the Autobot-Decepticon war

* * *

The sandstorm buffeted her harshly. Above, through the haze of swirling clouds of sand, two yellow suns floated, their rays warm and the sand underneath her feet even warmer. The desert around was pockmarked with artificially dug holes, a few of which had had pumps inserted within in an effort to drain what little scraps of energon could be found. On either side of the dry lake-bed were rocky mesas with not a spot of vegetation between them. The star-charts did not have a name for this world, simply a flat designation that the computers had automatically assigned to it: DVM-876. No one had bothered with the world enough to give it an actual name. At least, not in any official capacity.

Skystreaker had to stop in her trek for a moment, her silver and black metal form glinting in the sunlight. She was tall, especially for a female of her race, comprised of elegant curves and an agile frame that was built entirely for speed. A set of folded wings lay upon her back, both of which would lengthen quickly if she transformed into her jet mode. Her optics, a pale red in the sunlight, narrowed as she attempted to discern anything from the desert ahead of her. The longer she stood here, the hotter she became and the less comfortable she felt. As for the holes scattered around her, each one a few metres in diameter, it was clear that she was on the right track. Someone was out here, other than herself.

_This better be worth the time,_ she thought. She caught sight of something large and rectangular in the distance, shrouded in the brown haze of the sandstorm. She resumed her walk, her long legs taking her across the dry lake-bed at a brisk pace. The shape in the distance took form; it formed a stark contrast to the dunes and rocky outcrops behind it. The wide rectangular shape, Cybertronian in nature, was comprised mainly of portions of the hull from a scout-craft. The owner of the ship had clearly stripped it of what he could before arranging it into a prefab structure, enough to protect from the sandstorms and put a roof over his head. Hardly what Skystreaker would consider a holiday home.

She neared the front 'porch' of the makeshift abode. Scraps of metal, including a reconfigured Autobot communications dish about the size of her head, had been left out here. The dish ha emitted a guiding beacon that had lead her to the world before abruptly shutting down. A quick examination of it revealed that the power core had depleted and it was likely that there had been very little charge inside to begin with.

Aside from the howling wind, the place was quiet. Her suspicions were immediately raised and she readied the plasma blaster at her right arm, her hand giving way for the glowing barrel. Slowly, she moved towards the open doorway and peered inside. Sand had blown across the floor and the wind whistled loudly within the confined space. The makeshift home was far from airtight, with small gusts of wind working their way through gaps at the corners and where sections of the re appropriated hull had been connected.

There were some touches of home here. The seal of the Autobots, for one, was set on the wall ahead. Some medical equipment was placed on a table by the doorway. Skystreaker stepped inside, closing the door behind her, before she regarded the rest of the modest home. Being a reappropriated scout-ship, there were computer terminals at some of the walls. Only one of the half a dozen present was still functioning. At the far end was a fairly flat and no doubt uncomfortable berth, one that was currently occupied by a large and semi-conscious Autobot. He would have made for an imposing figure at any other time, though his current status had left him a mere shadow of his former self. Tall and well-built, with a mostly blue and grey finish, this Autobot lay sprawled upon the berth with his optics half open. He form was marred by thick patches of rust, likely of the contagious sort. Skystreaker felt ill herself just looking at him, noticing the way in which the rust had been gradually eating away at his metal form. By the berth was a table where a few Cybertronian data-sticks had been placed.

Skystreaker saw his state and put away her weapon. She was not sure how she felt, seeing him like this. Sympathy, sure, but not enough for her to rush to his aid.

"What happened to you?" She asked.

The Autobot stirred where he lay, his eyes opening completely. They fixed on her and he went to speak, only to let out a throaty cough. A splatter of blue-white fluid left his mouth and some of it dribbled down his chin. Skystreaker could see that he had a lot of wear and tear on him, likely some internal injuries to boot. His state must have been deteriorating for a long time. His optics shifted slightly and a look of concern appeared on his face.

"You...joined them?" He lifted one finger, slowly, so that he could point at the Decepticon insignia at her shoulder.

"I didn't really have a choice," Skystreaker replied. She took a step towards him and knelt by the berth. He had called her here for a reason. _He better get to the point soon_, she thought, as she had no desire to stay here any longer than she had to. And she had no desire to catch whatever he had.

"Were you followed?"

"Followed?" Skystreaker had not even thought about this possibility. No one cared where she went, she was sure of this. The Decepticon ranks had been in disarray for a while. She had her enemies, but it seemed unlikely anyone would send out a search party just for her.

"Our enemies...are everywhere..." The Autobot croaked, his voice weak. He coughed again, hitting Skystreaker in the face with some energon spittle. She gave a disgusted wince and wiped it away with one hand.

_I'm going to catch something, aren't I?_

"What do you want? Why did you call me here?" Skystreaker asked. Her tone was stern, her growing impatience working its way into her voice.

"Hardly friendly words...for your father..."

Skystreaker shook her head.

"You're not my father," she said. "You might have raised me, but that's it."

The Autobot said nothing in response to this. Skystreaker detected a hint of despair in the way his eyes widened, if only momentarily, before he looked over to the nearby table.

"Take it all," he said.

"The sticks?" Skystreaker scoffed. "What for?"

"Take them..." Before he could say anymore, he coughed again. Skystreaker leaned back slightly, avoiding the fly of spittle. This time around, the Autobot fell into a fit of strained coughs, a pained look crossing his face as he put a hand to his chest and another over his mouth. Skystreaker glanced over at the pads and data-sticks, seeing no significance in them.

"Do not allow the Seal to fall into the hands of our enemies," the Autobot said, having recovered from his fit of coughing.

"Anything else you want me to do? Buff your finish? Back rub?" She figured her 'father' was delirious, judging from his current state. Maybe the isolation here had driven him mad? It seemed likely. "What's so important about what's on these data sticks?" She could feel some anger building inside her, but she kept it contained for now. The lack of solid answers was grating against her nerves.

"Go to Earth," the Autobot declared. He sat up suddenly, his optics wide and one hand out towards her. He grabbed her roughly by one shoulder, drawing him in close. Skystreaker tilted her head away slightly, hoping to not take another mouthful of his spittle.

"Earth? Never heard of the place."  
"The coordinates...are in the data-sticks." He looked straight into her optics, his gaze piercing, almost as if he were looking into her very spark. Compounded by his firm grip at her shoulder, it was all enough to make her feel uncomfortable.

"You really have gone crazy," she said, squirming free of his grasp. "What's so important about 'Earth'?" She glared at him, her desire for proper answers coming to the fore. What was he playing at? He had called her out here, to this forsaken pit of a planet, just to lay his personal library on her?

"Nothing," he said. Before Skystreaker could reply, her father interjected again. "Everything."

"Make up your mind." Skystreaker rolled her optics and stood up. "Did living out in this dump scramble your cyber-brain?"

"Don't be..." He coughed again, apparently unable to finish a sentence without doing so. "Don't be so arrogant. Everything happens for a reason."  
_  
_"Look, I was having a nice enough time wandering the galaxy by myself," Skystreaker said. "You're lucky I even got your message. Now I realise that it was a waste of time coming here." She paused, thinking that she may have been too harsh. He was not well, likely near death, and here she was acting like he was nothing to her. He should have been, she knew this much, yet despite everything that had happened in her time away from him, she still had a soft spot for him. He had never been hard on her.

"Go to Earth," he said. "I think things will become clearer there."

"You _think_?" Skystreaker sighed. "I don't _think_ that's enough for me to go on. You might want to find someone else to go on your crusade."  
Somewhere outside, amongst the howling of the sandstorm, Skystreaker heard what sounded like an engine. She froze, noticing that her "father" had heard it too. He sat up in his berth, coughing loudly as he did so, the energon spittle he unleashed now a dark greenish hue. Whatever was wrong with him, it had worked its way into his very life-blood.

"Did you hear that?" He said, once his coughing fit was over. "They must have followed you."

"Followed me?" Skystreaker found this hard to believe. "No one even knew I came here. I was alone. Who would be organized enough to follow me? And why?" Despite her incredulity, she did ready the plasma cannon at her right arm. Her father remained in his berth, hardly in any state to even climb out of it.

If someone had actually followed her here, there may have been some truth to what the Autobot had told her. That was a sobering thought.

"You have to go," the Autobot declared. "They must not...they cannot get hold of you...or the Seal..."

Skystreaker walked over to the door and pulled it open slightly, peering out into the swirling sandstorm. It had receded somewhat and continued to do so, the air within the valley becoming less thick with sand and far brighter as the full rays of both suns were no longer obscured. Skystreaker's gaze fell upon the Decepticon scout vessel parked in the middle of the dry lake-bed and the several purple Vehicons who had emerged from it. Had they followed her? It seemed unlikely that it was simply coincidence that they had arrived here shortly after she did.

"Maybe they tracked the beacon?" Skystreaker asked, looking back at her father. He did not reply. Instead, he had laid back down, apparently resigned to whatever fate the approaching Decepticons had planned for him. Given her status as one (at least in the loosest sense) she figured she may be able to bluff her way past them. On second glance, her Autobot guardian appeared to be dead. She walked over to his side, sensing no more life from his spark. His rusted form looked more pronounced now, as if the rust itself had suddenly upped its game once the last vestiges of life had left him.

Skystreaker looked down at him, frustration filling her. Why did he have to be so damn vague? She hardly knew what he had been talking about. What did he mean by 'Seal'? The light in the Autobot's optics had gone and they stared blankly ahead, lifeless. Skystreaker felt a pang of sadness at his passing, even more when she realised that he had very clearly kept himself alive long enough to pass on his vague message. The rust had likely addled his cyber-brain, so it was a significant feat that he had even managed to be as lucid as he was.

Outside, her enemies marched closer. She took up the data sticks from the table nearby, one of which apparently contained Earth's location. Things might become clearer if she travelled there, as her "father" had said, but she doubted it immensely. Her Autobot guardian had not been thinking clearly and for all she knew, 'Earth' could be a junkyard planet.

Heading to the partially open door, she peered through the gap. A group of Vehicons stood outside now, weapons drawn. Skystreaker readied her on-board arm cannon and pushed it open, half-expecting them to start shooting right away.

"You have been marked as a deserter," the "lead" Vehicon said in a flat monotone. Skystreaker frowned, but knew that she should not be so surprised. She had indeed _deserted_, she had just not expected anyone to really notice, or care for that matter. The Decepticon ranks had been in chaos for a long time, with groups of them scattered across the known galaxy. At a glance, it appeared that this little force was _organized_.

"The punishment for desertion is death," the Vehicon said.

"Then you better get to it," Skystreaker said. She did not give the Vehicon an opportunity to respond, as she fired a shot that hit it squarely in the face. Its head exploded in a shower of fragments and energon fluid, its body crumpling into a heap upon the ground. Skystreaker was not about to take any chances, nor would she play along with any 'punishment' that any of these moronic Vehicons intended to dish out.

She adjusted her aim quickly and fired another shot, the blue bolt of energy connecting with the chest of one of the other Vehicons. There was a small puff of white flame as its spark practically exploded, the light leaving its long slit of an optic before it fell backwards. The remaining four opened fire, filling the air around her with energy bolts. Skystreaker dived to one side, somersaulting with excellent finesse. As she came back onto her feet she fired a volley from her arm cannon, blasting another of the Vehicons before sweeping her aim onto another. This one let fly with a shot that hit her in the left shoulder, sending a burning pain down her chest and arm that caused her to cry out.

Regardless of the pain and the scorched hole that had been burned into her armour, she readjusted her aim and returned fire. She cut down the Vehicon who had wounded her before the two that remained scattered apart. Skystreaker sought cover, as being out in the open was far less desirable for her current circumstances. She raced around the side of the dead Autobot's makeshift home, a few bolts of energy striking the metal near her position while the two Vehicons continued to shoot at her. Skystreaker glanced at her wound, the pain having faded somewhat. It was not immediately serious, despite the blue-white fluid that flowed out of the scorched fist-sized hole. Her pride was hurt more than anything else, as getting shot by a Vehicon was one thing she would never be able to live down.

She leaned around the building and took a shot, shearing the left arm of one of the Vehicons clean off. The Decepticon let out a pained scream and fell over, energon fluid spurting out of the stump in a manner not dissimilar to a geyser, albeit on a much smaller scale. The last Vehicon watched his comrade go down and, despite the lack of any real face on the soldier, appeared to consider its own options before turning around and making a run for it. Skystreaker stepped out of cover, watching as the fleeing Vehicon fired a few shots at her as he raced back for the parked scout-ship. Smirking, she prepared to give chase, only to hear a familiar voice sound out from behind her. She realized her mistake then, as the Vehicons had been mere distractions, all the while the real threat had made their way around her flank.

"Guess who," the male voice said. Skystreaker swiveled around, cannon raised. She recognized the flier standing behind her, a tall and broad-shouldered Decepticon whom she had not expected to see ever again. He was pointing a stun cannon at her.

"Skywarp," she said, her tone sour. She narrowed her optics. She did not have time to do much else before he fired, sending waves of pain through her body, causing her to convulse violently as every joint in her reacted to the shock beam. She fell into a heap on the ground, shaking about, unable to properly control her limbs, all the while Skywarp leered down at her with a sick grin on his face. He no doubt got off on seeing her like this.

He pointed the stun gun down at her and shot her again. This was enough to knock her out entirely, with only a brief flash of pain to be felt before the world around her vanished into nothing.


	2. Cybertron

**Cybertron**

It was a gradual process. Rebuilding an entire world, one that had been ravaged by war for many thousands of years, was no simple task. It required a lot of helping hands and a lot of coordination between them. It was also the sort of job that no one in their right mind would actually want to lead; that is, to be the one calling the shots and being in charge of countless workers. There were certain individuals where such a position would be perfect for them. Unfortunately, Ultra Magnus did not believe himself to be one of them.

Iacon had once been a glistening jewel of a city, a massive fortress in itself that had been the home of the Autobots for tens of thousands of years. Even through the Autobot-Decepticon conflict the city had endured, until falling within the war's final years during a massive assault, sparking the beginning of the mass exodus from Cybertron. It had been the first part of Cybertron to be rebuilt, a process that was still ongoing to this day. The central halls, where the Primes of ages past had governed from, had been among the first locations cleaned up and returned to their pre-war near-pristine states. The rest of Iacon soon followed, yet despite the rebuilt structures and clean streets, the place was still fairly empty. Refugees trickled into the city regularly, but it would seem that the Cybertronian race had been reduced to only small numbers.

A veteran of the war in every sense of the term, Ultra Magnus had been a leader in the past, just never _the _leader. The actual heavy stuff, leading entire armies, that had been something he had never had an affinity for. Optimus Prime had always been around for that sort of thing. Ultra Magnus had been content to be his second-in-command and nothing more. Politics was something a Prime would be able to handle, not a soldier.

He was seated within the vast central chamber from where the Primes had once governed the world. The chamber was large and circular, vast enough to make the bulky Autobot feel small. A large semi-circular table took up part of the floor and he sat alone upon the middle seat. There were twelve other seats, six on either side of him. The lighting above gave the entire chamber a bluish hue. Statues of the original thirteen Primes were spaced along the walls at intervals, each one three times his height and significantly wider. At each spot of the table was a computer terminal, but only the one in front of Ultra Magnus was switched on.

He had been going through reports for the last few hours, just another part of his new peace-time daily routine. Sometimes he felt that all he did was sit here and read whilst being alerted to any problems that might have arisen within the city. Hearing about everything that went wrong, ranging from trivial to serious, had had a draining effect on him during the years since Optimus Prime's sacrifice. Had the Prime considered that they would be without a leader? He might have been convinced that each of them was capable of rising above their station, that every Autobot was capable of leadership, but Ultra Magnus had not counted on being in this sort of leadership. He was a soldier, not a politician. The responsibilities of running a whole city, even with a small population, were unlike running a platoon. Instead of wounded soldiers, he had to deal with many self-styled politicians who had emerged in the intervening years, each leading their own little parties. Autobot, Decepticon or otherwise, there were so many new groups forming on Cybertron that he was having difficulty keeping track of them all and their relations to one another. They all wanted influence, they all wanted a piece of Cybertron. Sometimes Ultra Magnus found himself feeling nostalgic over the Autobot-Decepticon conflict, as that had at least been straightforward. During the war, he had known who his enemies were and he could deal with them accordingly. Now, instead of shooting anyone who threatened the Autobots, he had to instead be diplomatic. No one was foolish enough to ignite another conflict, at least no one on Cybertron. Yet they all wanted influence, power and even living space.

He checked his schedule for today. Some representative from one of the new groups was due to come by soon, likely to ask him for something. That was what most of these new faction leaders did every time they met with him: they asked him for something. None seemed too concerned with what _he_ wanted, or what other groups may have wanted. He figured it had been naive of him to think that Cybertron's reconstruction would unite them. At least on the surface it had, with Autobot and Decepticon working together to rebuild the ruined world. But underneath that veneer of cooperation, certain opportunities had arisen and, quite fittingly, opportunists had taken them. Despite the conflicting groups, none had come to blows. A little healthy competition never hurt anyone. Iacon had formed a fairly good economy, mostly through bartered goods (particularly energon) since actual currency was non-existent and Ultra Magnus saw no point in trying to set one up. It was still too soon and they had a long way to go before the planet was back to the way it had been, before the war.

Finally, he mused over the last entry in the schedule. He would be drilling recruits, what few they had, anyway. There were some experienced Autobots like him who had come back to Cybertron and they handled most of the training. Working with the recruits and actually creating new soldiers had been something that the Autobot Commander had always enjoyed. This was at least something he could look forward to for today.

At that moment, the double doors of the massive chamber slid open then, groaning loudly on their tracks as they moved. The doors themselves were suitably large, emblazoned with a metal sculpture of the Matrix of Leadership in the centre. The sculpture split into two as the doors slid open and Ultra Magnus directed his gaze at the pair of figures who entered. Both he recognized, though neither he was terribly happy to see.

The Decepticon Motorhead had been a labourer prior to the war, like many of his kind. He was of an average size for a Decepticon, with the faction's crest set into the centre of his burly torso. He was mostly grey in colour, with black streaks along his frame. His strong arms hinted at his labourer past, whereas his face bore a few scars from battle. Among them, a long scar that worked its way down one side of his face and to his mouth. His red optics glowed brightly and Ultra Magnus found their piercing gaze, compounded by the Decepticon's irritating and almost perpetual smile, somewhat unnerving.

Motorhead's companion was a Vehicon, one that was a step above the typical drone. This Vehicon had a pair of red optics, unlike most others who carried one long slit that served as their eyes. It was of the average size for a Vehicon, with white trimming along its mostly black form. This was the 'Foreman', as it had taken to calling itself. A Vehicon that was something more than a Vehicon.

Motorhead gave a curt nod and greeted Ultra Magnus with a smile. The Autobot commander immediately saw through it but said nothing.

"Ultra Magnus," Motorhead said. "I'm here on the behalf of the Decepticon Worker's Union."

"I know," Ultra Magnus said. He tried to keep the disdain out of his voice. He did not entirely succeed.

"What's the problem this time?" He asked Motorhead.

"There are a few matters that have come to the Union's attention," Motorhead answered. His tone was level, his voice smooth. He reminded Ultra Magnus of Knock Out, in some respects, though Motorhead lacked the severe vanity of that particular Decepticon.

"Did you go to Bulkhead first?"

"Of course I did. However that Autobot answers to you. And I believe that if any actual changes are to be made, then it would be best to go straight to the top. In fact, I believe that it was Bulkhead who recommended we see you about these matters."

The burly Autobot had simply passed the matter onto him. It was understandable, given just how much work Bulkhead and the other labourers had to carry out every day. Ultra Magnus wondered if Bulkhead was aware of just how much work he had to do himself, albeit in somewhat less physically-demanding fields. Rebuilding was one thing, working in politics was another. Where the former may leave one's joints aching, the latter could leave one drained mentally.

"There is some dissatisfaction among the workers within the Union," Motorhead continued. "Firstly, energon shares. The workers require more."

"How much more?"

"A one-and-a-half unit increase would be sufficient," the Foreman interjected, his voice a monotone. Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics. Energon was not in limited supply, it was the more refined variants that everyone wanted a piece of. The refining facilities had been destroyed during the war and only Iacon's main facility had been brought back to a functioning state. Rationing was still required in some areas. It would be a long time before they had a significant surplus.

"Refined energon, I take it?" Ultra Magnus already knew the answer, but asked anyway. He wanted to see just how much these unionists were game enough request.

"At least seventy-percent refined," Motorhead said.

"Seventy-percent?" Ultra Magnus did not hide his annoyance as he repeated the demand. "As it stands, we're lucky to get fifty percent out of the refinery. Not everything around here is working as well as it should be."

"Fifty-percent should be satisfactory," Motorhead replied. He glanced over at the Foreman, who Ultra Magnus sensed was a bit angered at the response. However, the look on Motorhead's face, a brief one that he quickly replaced with his veneer of friendliness, was a stern one that more or less told the Foreman to keep his voice-box shut.

"I'll have the raise arranged," Ultra Magnus said. "However, it's come to _my_ attention that your assigned projects are behind schedule. The tenements in the northern sector were supposed to be completed one deca-cycle ago."

"And they will be," Motorhead said, his tone as genial as always. "With the added rations, the workers will have all the motivation they need to complete their assigned tasks. Those tenement structures will be liveable in another week, mark my words."

"If it's not done by then I'll find someone else to finish the job," Ultra Magnus said, his tone stern. Granted, there was no one else available for such work but Motorhead did not need to know this. Ultra Magnus was not normally one to lie, though in this case simply neglecting to give the full details on their lack of replacement workers was not necessarily a lie. He could feel comfortable with that. "So you better make use of the new raise."

"Indeed we will, Commander," Motorhead said. The Foreman appeared to be on the verge of speaking again, but Motorhead shot him another cruel gaze that was enough to convince him to keep quiet.

"Is that all?" Ultra Magnus asked.

"There is one more thing," Motorhead said, returning his attention to the Autobot. "You might be aware of them. The Cult of Nova Prime?"

Ultra Magnus recognized the name, primarily the 'Nova Prime' part of it. Nova Prime had been one of the original thirteen Primes, although now was the first time he had heard of there being a 'cult' about this historical figure. Religion was not something he had ever thought much about. The war had done a good job of distracting him. On the odd occasion he may have pondered his own mortality, but he had never gone on his knees to pray to anyone or anything. He likely never would.

"A bunch of religious loonies, by all accounts," Motorhead continued. "But loonies are very good at stirring up trouble. They've been doing that at the construction site in the northern sector, near the unfinished tenements. There aren't many of them, but they get in the way and they leave their propaganda plastered around the place. It's an eye-sore."

"That's all they do?" Ultra Magnus was not sure if there was really a problem here.

"Some of the workers have been drawn into their weird beliefs," Motorhead said. "Some have even stopped showing up for work. You might want to look into this 'Cult', if you want your residential areas finished on time."

"I'll look into it," Ultra Magnus said. "If workers are neglecting their duties because of their affiliations with this group, then it could become a problem. There hasn't been any violence with them?"

"None," Motorhead replied. Ultra Magnus found this answer unexpected. If this 'cult' had been stirring up trouble at the construction site with a bunch of Decepticons, then it was very likely that those Decepticons would have attempted to rectify the situation through physical force. That was usually their means of solving problems.

"We are but simple workers," Motorhead added. "These Cultists are a nuisance and some of the Vehicons we employ are easily swayed with their promises of 'salvation' and a 'messiah'."

Ultra Magnus found Motorhead's constant grinning enough to make him feel uncertain of the Decepticon. Had this been ten years previously, Ultra Magnus probably would have gutted Motorhead and moved on to the next target. That would have been the simpler, if more barbaric, solution.

"Now, _is that all_?" Ultra Magnus asked.

Motorhead nodded, giving a short bow in reply.

"I thank you for your time, Commander," he said. Ultra Magnus said nothing, able to tell from the Decepticon's smooth tones that he was not entirely serious with his thanks. It was likely he doubted Ultra Magnus' political skills. That was understandable, even Ultra Magnus doubted them himself sometimes.

Both Motorhead and the Foreman turned and left the chamber, their footsteps receding into the distance before the massive double doors groaned shut behind them. Ultra Magnus was once again alone inside the vast chamber, left to his work as he looked down at the holographic computer display before him. He did not have much of a chance to resume his work, as the large double doors started groaning open again and he looked up, half-expecting to see Motorhead striding back in ready to ask for something else.

He was pleased to see that it was Bumblebee, the Autobot warrior-scout, who was the one striding into the chamber. He had his usual confident aura, his large blue optics carrying their characteristic youthful vibrancy. Even so, there was a hint of something almost solemn under that demeanour, the mark of someone who had needed to mature far earlier than they probably should have. The war had left its mark on them all differently.

"Bumblebee," Ultra Magnus said, rising from his seat. The scout stopped at the other side of the table and gave a salute.

"Ultra Magnus, sir," Bumblebee said.

"I didn't expect you back from Earth so soon." Ultra Magnus had assigned Bumblebee as their official liaison to the other world and the humans. The space-bridge aboard the former-Decepticon vessel _Nemesis_ provided a quick and easy means of travel to Earth; naturally that travel had to be strictly controlled. Ultra Magnus had never really needed to pay any visits to Earth since his appointment to leadership here on Cybertron, save for the occasional unofficial trip. He did not have as strong a connection to the human members of "Team Prime" that some of the other Autobots had.

"I saw Motorhead outside," Bumblebee said. "He pestering you again, sir?"

"Pretty much."

There was a pause. Ultra Magnus flicked off his computer terminal with one hand, figuring that catching up with Bumblebee concerning his excursion to Earth was enough of an excuse to put his work on hold for a while.

"How was the trip, soldier?"

"Routine," Bumblebee replied. "At least, _at first_ it was."

Ultra Magnus leaned forwards slightly, curious.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I did my usual thing. Exchanging pleasantries, meeting up with old friends. But I got a surprise visit from Agent Fowler."

"Fowler?" Ultra Magnus nodded, listening carefully. He had not seen that particular human for some time. As he understood, Agent Fowler of the United States government was getting on in human years yet he still worked in the same position that he had been in when the conflict with Megatron had ended. The human was persistent and Ultra Magnus could only imagine the sort of politics he would have to put up with while working such a job. He figured the two of them might have something in common, in that regard. "How is he?"

"Same as always," Bumblebee said. "Thing is, he had some interesting news, sir."

"About what?"

"Firstly, he wants you to have a meeting with the President. That's what he told me."

"Their President?"

"To renew the treaty," Bumblebee replied. "You do know about the Treaty, sir?"

Ultra Magnus realised that yes, he should have remembered that particular 'Treaty'. The Autobot-Human treaty expired in the coming months. Ultra Magnus had never been big on bureaucracy, but for some reason the humans needed this sort of thing down on paper and filed away in order for it to be 'official'. Optimus Prime had first signed the treaty, renewing it a few months prior to his final conflict with Megatron. The Prime had told him about it, but never in any significant detail. It was not a matter of discussion that had come up often.

"He wants to meet me?" Ultra Magnus nodded. "I can do that. When do they want me there?"

"As soon as possible, sir," Bumblebee said. He paused for a moment, noticing Ultra Magnus' somewhat weary expression. The Autobot commander did not even realise he was letting his general exhaustion become apparent, so the scout's next question did catch him a bit off-guard: "Is everything all right, Commander?"

Ultra Magnus took a moment to answer. He mulled over all that he had been doing for the last few months here, solar cycles even.

"I never saw myself as a politician," he said. "Here I am, in the chamber of the Council of Primes, and I'm not even a Prime."

"You don't need to be a Prime to be a leader," Bumblebee said.

"Maybe. But sometimes I think they had something that I didn't."

Bumblebee frowned. It was clear he had not expected to hear the Commander speaking this way.

"Sir, you really shouldn't be putting yourself down like that."

"I'm a soldier, like you. I was only a fledgling when I picked up a rifle and started shooting. The Elite Guard was all I knew. They taught me how to fight. How to kill. In that sense, the war was a lot more straightforward compared to settling worker's disputes and rebuilding infrastructure. Give me a squad of soldiers and point me in the direction of the enemy. Don't give me a data-pad and a bunch of squabbling Decepticon workers to deal with. That's not who I am."

"Permission to speak frankly, sir?"

"Go ahead."

"I don't envy your job, sir," Bumblebee said. His tone was one of understanding, the young Autobot carrying surprisingly more wisdom than someone of his age usually would. "But out of everyone here in the city, you're the one best suited to be a leader. You were by Optimus' side through most of the war. You have more field experience than everyone else. We all believe in you, sir. Don't forget that. And we're a team, after all. We all do our part."

"This chamber feels a little empty." Ultra Magnus took a quick glance around the chamber. The size and emptiness did make him feel small, and he was fairly large for an Autobot.

"I think it'll fill up soon enough, sir," Bumblebee said.

Ultra Magnus could only hope so. Maybe once the population here was large enough and the city was fully reconstructed they could have a proper ruling body, instead of just him and "Team Prime" doing their best to keep things organized.

"It's not just the treaty Fowler told me about," Bumblebee said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. "There was something else. He seemed pretty worried about it."

"What was it?"

"He told me there's some kind of group that's been interfering with Unit E. He told me he didn't trust them, but that he's been made to work with them. Some kind of Special Taskforce, he wasn't specific."

'Unit-E' was the official designation for Team Prime's Earth-based branch, comprised of Agent William Fowler and Ratchet, as well as several others.

"The human militaries and their government organisations, if what I've read about them is correct, have always attempted to one-up each other. Even within the nation that is the United States. This 'taskforce' sounds like it's just trying to do the same thing. Fowler would do well to remain stubborn, that way they're less likely to walk all over him." Ultra Magnus would need to talk with the human personally to get a proper grasp of the situation. As it stood, it appeared all he really had to concern himself with regarding Earth was the renewal of the treaty.

"Whoever they are, he doesn't trust them," Bumblebee said. "He even suggested he thought they'd be the next MECH."

"That was an organization operating outside of the law. Sounds like this Taskforce is well within it." Ultra Magnus paused for a moment, giving the matter some thought. A trip to Earth would make for a welcome change from routine, even if it meant he would be dealing with human politics instead of the Cybertronian variety. "Maybe when we go there we can help him sort this matter out."

"As for your trip there, sir, you'll need an escort," Bumblebee said. His implication was obvious. Ultra Magnus could certainly appreciate the soldier's enthusiasm.

"I see no reason why you can't be part of that escort," he said. Bumblebee nodded in acknowledgement. "And I can think of someone else who might be a good fit for tagging along."


	3. Workshop

**Workshop**

The transition from destroyer to builder had not been a smooth one. Wheeljack may not have been a Wrecker to begin with, but the job had been his life for a very long time. Now, in this 'reconstruction period', he was expected to do away with his more destructive tendencies and put his efforts towards more constructive pursuits. He may have been a scientist in his early days, before the war had brought that routine lifestyle to a halt, but to try and get back into it after so long? It was a strange feeling, to say the least. Ultra Magnus had even assigned him a workshop of sorts, located within the central government building in Iacon.

Wheeljack was fairly averagely sized for an Autobot, but his bulky chest and arms indicated far greater strength than one might expect. He still retained his white finish and Earth vehicle mode, the flashy white sports car a form he could not see himself changing anytime soon. Both his swords he had placed upon a bench nearby while he sorted through one of the adjoining storage rooms. The workshop was large, so he had no complaints about things being too cramped. There was plenty of room to move about, even with the assorted junk scattered around. A long bench took up the centre of the room, with another against one wall. A waste disposal chute was set into the wall at the far end of the room, currently clogged with scrap metal. Wheeljack had opened one of the doors nearby, taking him into an equally large storage room that had likely not been opened for many years. Getting the door open had taken him long enough, given the fact that it had been sealed tight. He had been half-expecting some kind of treasure trove to be within, though upon opening the door he had been met with shelves stacked with metal boxes of varying sizes. So had started his exploration of what each of them had contained, beginning with the shelf closest to the door. The dim blue-white lighting cast subdued shadows across the room. The whole place was silent, save for his movements. Granted, he was one of about twelve Cybertronians currently within the vast building, so it was no real surprise that things were as quiet as they were. He did feel some odd childish excitement as he took down the first of the crates, although it was quickly quelled when he saw the elaborate locking mechanism set into it.

_Should have expected as much,_ he thought. He carried the box back out into the workshop, setting it down on the central bench before he took up one of his swords from where it had been laid out nearby. The metal in his pair of swords was some of the strongest known to Cybertronian science, comprised of a rare alloy that was durable, but allowed for some flexibility. He had forged them himself early on in the war as equipment had been scarce for the Autobot side. They had not been the only weapons he had built.

His job here, sorting through the junk and the possible useful items, would have been made a great deal easier if he had access to the original supply manifests. Though Cybertron's core had been restored, many of the computers within Iacon had required repairs. Wear from age and the scraplet infestation (their numbers had burgeoned considerably while the planet had been abandoned) had taken their toll on many of the systems here. There had been no way to retrieve some of the files contained within the vast memory banks of the council building. Among those files had been the manifests listing everything stored here, left sealed within crates like the very one Wheeljack had set before him. As a result, manually sorting through them all was the only option. It was not quite as fulfilling as helping Bulkhead and the others rebuild the residential areas and factories. Still, someone had to do it. Wheeljack found it surprising that so much of this stuff had remained, as most of the city had been stripped clean during the war and even afterwards, whether it was by stragglers or scraplets. To find a few store-rooms full of goods was a noteworthy find indeed.

_And I'm the lucky guy who gets the job._

With the sword in one hand, he worked its blade into the slight gap between the lid of the box and the rest of it. He squeezed it behind the lock, jamming it in tightly before he began to work the sword's hilt. There was some give to the lock, so it certainly was not as sturdy as it appeared. Gradually, he began to pull. The lock began to creak and it visibly lifted ever so slightly from its housing.

_Come on, come on._

There was an abrupt _snap_ and part of the lock came flying off, hitting him in the chest where it dinged harmlessly off of his armour. It left a slight silver mark among the white finish, nothing a buffer would not fix. A thin cloud of dust erupted from the box as the lid flipped open. Inside was a small cannon of some make he did not recognize, compact in design with sleek curves. It was a side-arm, one he found himself oddly enamoured with. Then again, he would often find himself enamoured with any new gun he came across.

"Ain't you a pretty little thing?" He said aloud. He removed the pistol from its housing, putting aside his sword as he did so. The door of the workshop opened at that moment and a very familiar red and silver Cybertronian strode inside.

"Little? You and me are practically the same size."

Wheeljack looked up, narrowing his optics with some annoyance.

"I wasn't talking to you, Knock Out," he said. The former Decepticon was a tolerable presence at best, annoying at worst. He saw that Knock Out carried a data-pad, its blue holographic display starkly visible from where he held it in one hand. Wheeljack lowered the pistol before he closed the now empty box it had been contained within.

"Sorting through all the old junk, are we?" Knock Out strolled over to the bench and took a brief look at what he had dug out of the crate. He then glanced around the workshop in general, his expression going from his usually smug one to one of disdain. "Shouldn't you tidy up the place first? Or is working in a mess your preferred method?"

"I've been busy," Wheeljack replied. "What about you? Ain't you supposed to be training wannabe doctors or something?"

"No classes on today," Knock Out said. "I have the day off, you see."

"So you thought you'd, what? Come down here and pester me in your boredom?"

Knock Out held the data-pad towards him. Wheeljack took it from him and quickly skimmed through the information on display. He frowned, realising that he had just been given an even greater workload than he already had.

"So, you're the chief's errand boy now?" Wheeljack put the data-pad down, noting Knock Out's brief but annoyed grimace in response to the question.

"Not at all. I was told to pass on the information and to help you out in your current task, as dull as it most likely is. That, and you've had your comms switched off for days."

"That way no one can interrupt me." Having people talk into his head while he was trying to work was a distraction he preferred to do without, especially with his current workload. "Also, it gets the chief off my back. He has a habit of chiming in and asking me how close I am to getting things done a heck of a lot more frequently than he should. Of course, he never actually comes down here in person."

"Ultra Magnus has been under a lot of stress."

"So have I. Now he wants me to start helping out at the refinery? I already did what I could there."

"Apparently not well enough," Knock Out said.

"I already have enough to deal with _here_." He did not find the idea of working together with Knock Out very appealing. There was a good chance the former Decepticon would start whining about the work after a short while. Wheeljack considered turning him away, content to sort things out by himself, but part of him would certainly appreciate the assistance. Rebuilding Cybertron was a team effort, after all.

"We all have a lot to do, Wheeljack. It's my day off. I could easily be somewhere else."

"Then how about you start bringing the boxes from in there," Wheeljack ordered, nodding towards the nearby store room, "And bring them out here. We need to sort this stuff out."

"Whatever you say." Knock Out gave a visibly sarcastic bow before he started into the store room. Wheeljack returned his attention to the pistol he had recovered from the first crate, noticing that there was a visible safety switch on the side. He picked the weapon up and flicked it off, feeling the weapon vibrate slightly in his hand as it charged up for the first time in centuries. It would likely be weaker than his on-board cannons, but his interest in anything remotely destructive had him toying with the gun in short order.

Knock Out emerged with a larger crate that he was having visible difficulty in carrying. Wheeljack watched him with the slightest of smirks as the former Decepticon dropped the heavy crate loudly upon the bench.

"No one stripped this place clean?" Knock Out asked him. He bent back and forwards, attempting to rectify an ache that had formed in his lower back. Wheeljack shrugged in reply.

"The door was locked tight," he said. "It was probably overlooked in the chaos of the evacuation."

"It's likely all junk," Knock Out commented.

Wheeljack held the pistol up for him to see.

"You call that 'junk'?"

"Does it still fire, after all this time?" Knock Out's tone was doubtful, derisive even.

Wheeljack was quick to reply, albeit in his own unique way: he gripped the weapon tight in his hand and fired, sending a brief white beam shooting past Knock Out that slammed into the wall near him. There was a puff of smoke and a shower of sparks upon impact, enough to cause Knock Out to stumble against the bench in fright.

"_What is wrong with you, Wheeljack?_" He shouted, his red optics wide as he looked towards the Autobot. Wheeljack gave an innocent look as he lowered the weapon.

"At least it still works," he said, putting the weapon down on the bench. "Low-yield by the look of it. Built for concealment."

Knock Out stood up and regained his composure, well aware that he had been the victim of a dangerous prank.

"Don't look at me like that," Wheeljack said. He found himself enjoying putting the Decepticon into as much discomfort as possible. "I'm a certified marksman. If I had wanted to hit you, I would have."

"Certified marksman?" Knock Out was unconvinced. "The only thing you're probably certified in is being an-"

"Amazing Autobot?" Wheeljack finished, getting another annoyed glance from Knock Out for his trouble. "Yeah, I'd have to agree with you on that." He nodded towards the large crate that Knock Out had brought in. "Why don't you open that up? You sure you can manage that?"

Knock Out ignored the latter question and set his gaze on the box before him. There was no lock on that one, so all Knock Out had to do was work the latches to pop it open.

"Just what I've always wanted," Knock Out said, his voice thickly marked with sarcasm. He reached inside and retrieved the long metal cylinder contained within the crate. "An outdated and depleted power cell."

"Well, it can't all be the cool stuff, can it?" The 'holdout' pistol was likely just a lucky find.

Knock Out placed the power cell back into the box and closed the lid. His face took on a thoughtful gaze then and Wheeljack noticed it immediately.  
"Something on your mind?"

"Maybe," Knock Out replied.

"That must be a first for you."

Knock Out rolled his optics at the remark and shifted the crate to one side.

"I've just been thinking about what comes next," the former Decepticon said. Wheeljack raised one brow-ridge, uncertain of his meaning.

"Comes after what?"

"After everything," Knock Out said. "After we're done getting this planet back in full working order. What do we do then?"

"You sound unsure of yourself." Wheeljack had not given the matter much thought. His work, whether it be in the workshop or out in the construction sites, had taken up much of his thoughts in recent years.

"Let's face it, Wheeljack. It's a brave new world we're living in." He did not sound so convinced. "After all this time, the population here is still fairly small. By all accounts, our species is in a sorry state."

"The population will grow," Wheeljack said.

"_Of course it will._" Knock Out sounded exasperated, as if Wheeljack was not quite getting his point. "That's not what I'm talking about. What about us? The soldiers, the medics. We were fighting in a war for so long I'm worried I've forgotten how to function in an actual functioning society. Surely, you must feel the same way, even a little bit?"

Wheeljack would have been lying if he answered in the negative. He had always assumed his place on the new Cybertron would be much like the life he had lived prior to the war. Trouble was, he had difficulty even remembering that far back.

"I always thought I'd settle down," he said after a long pause. He was not entirely sure of this statement.

"Settle down? You?" Knock Out's scepticism was clear in his tone. "You don't seem the 'settling down' type. I certainly don't see you living out your days in some luxury home with a half a dozen little fledglings racing about your feet."

"You're saying I'm not the type?" Wheeljack might have felt insulted, if he did not feel so unsure of himself all of a sudden. He had never heard Knock Out talk about this sort of thing before. Then again, he had not spoken to Knock Out much at all.

"Oh, I'm sure your skills with the females are superb," Knock Out said. Wheeljack was not entirely sure if he was being sarcastic or not. "You and I have something in common in that regard, I think. Then again, I've never been too picky..."

"I don't want to know about your taste in partners." Wheeljack interrupted him. Despite his general disdain for the former Decepticon, he did find himself thinking about what Knock Out had mentioned. 'Settling down' was something he had never thought he would get an opportunity to do. The life of a soldier had been a dangerous one, certainly, but it had also been very rewarding. He had become so engrossed in it, _addicted_ even that for a time he had never seen himself doing anything else. Now, with the war over, he realised that he was very much at a loss. The reconstruction effort was a good diversion, but he knew it would not last forever. Becoming a scientist again did not interest him much, oddly enough. They may need scientists, he knew there were plenty of others who could take those roles. Going back to his old life was simply unappealing. In fact, it felt like a disappointment. He was a soldier, a Wrecker to be more precise. He had been convinced he would be one until he inevitably got himself killed. Apparently, he had been too good to get himself killed. And he had been one whom others had seen to be likely to die in some reckless endeavour.

"You simply don't seem like the type to stay in one place for any extended period of time," Knock Out said, his refined tones interrupting Wheeljack's train of thought.

"What do you know about me?" Wheeljack scoffed. His interactions with Knock Out had been fairly limited up until recently. "How do you know I'm not the type?"

"Why, Wheeljack, you sound insulted," Knock Out said. His mouth formed into a wry smile as he spoke. "Did I touch a nerve?"

"I just don't like it when a 'Con makes assumptions about me," he said, his tone level.

"Autobot, Decepticon, it no longer matters what side you're on," Knock Out countered. "I gave up being a Decepticon years ago."

"You still act like one."

"How so?"

"The superior attitude, for starters."

"My superior attitude? That's rich, coming from you. You're the cockiest and most self-absorbed Autobot I've ever met. If anyone's got a superior attitude, it's _you_."

Wheeljack frowned. Maybe Knock Out spoke the truth, it would not be the first time someone had said as much about him. Still, he found the former Decepticon's irritated expression slightly amusing.

"What are you going to do? Are you going to 'settle down'? Something tells me no self-respecting female would ever want to 'settle down' with you." Wheeljack leaned back against the bench, awaiting the likely frustrated reply.

"Your assumption is quite off the mark," Knock Out replied. There was some pride in his voice. "I intend to find myself a nice place in the east Iacon estates. I also intend to do my part in repopulating this world."

"Yeah, I'm sure you do," Wheeljack said. He was not at all convinced.

"My skills with the females are rusty, I'll admit that. There weren't very many in the Decepticon ranks."

"Maybe because most females have some degree of self-respect." Wheeljack smirked at him again when Knock Out gave a look of contempt.

"Do you want my help in your tasks or not? Because I can leave, if I want to. I'm supposed to have the day off."

"You won't leave," Wheeljack said. "You're too afraid of what the chief will say if he finds out you didn't help me." He paused for a moment, considering the matter. "You know, I don't think he likes you."

"Ultra Magnus and I get along fine," Knock Out replied. "What makes you think otherwise?"

Wheeljack shrugged. Honestly, he had no idea what the Autobot Commander thought about Knock Out, nor did he particularly care. Still, getting on Knock Out's nerves made for an amusing diversion. It was certainly preferable over sorting through old crates.

"My Decepticon past is behind me now, Wheeljack. If Ultra Magnus can accept that, you should be able to as well."

"Doesn't change the fact that you're a coward," Wheeljack said simply. He started for the store room, ignoring Knock Out's wide-eyed look as the statement registered in his head. Wheeljack took one of the small metal crates from the shelves nearest the door and brought it back into the workshop. Knock Out looked flustered. His fiery red optics went to Wheeljack as the Autobot emerged from the storage room.

"I'm a doctor, not a soldier," Knock Out said, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen between the two of them.

"Are you going to stay a doctor?" Wheeljack set the crate down on the bench in front of him. This one was unlocked, so he simply had to flip the latches to reveal the contents within. There was nothing inside this one, a slight disappointment but one to be expected. He realised, as he asked the question to Knock Out, that he and the doctor did have a few things in common. It was not a realisation that brought him any happiness. They were both self-absorbed, to varying degrees. Wheeljack had been called as much by others in the past. Knock Out had displayed as much during the time they had known each other.

"It's all I've ever done," Knock Out replied. "I will have my place on this new Cybertron. I'm curious to hear what you're going to do."

"I..." Wheeljack trailed off. This was not a matter he had settled within himself. He doubted he ever would. "I don't know." As much as he hated giving this answer for any question, it was the truth. The more he thought about it, the more daunting it seemed. Things had been so much simpler during the war.

Before Knock Out could add anything, he was distracted by the familiar voice that burst through his comms. Wheeljack watched him as he listened intently to whatever the caller was saying.

"He's here, sir." Knock Out looked towards Wheeljack and with one hand tapped the side of his forehead. It was an obvious signal for the Autobot to switch on his own comms. Wheeljack, somewhat reluctantly, did so.

_"Wheeljack? Can you hear me?"_ Ultra Magnus' stern voice cut through his thoughts abruptly.

"Yeah, I can hear you. What do you want?" Wheeljack wondered what the Commander could possibly want from him now. He had already given him the assignment down here in the workshop, sorting through all the crates; and then he had given Knock Out the data-pad containing the details as to Wheeljack's assignment to the nearby refinery. What more could Ultra Magnus possibly want him to do?

_"I need you and Knock Out to report to me immediately. I'll be in the central command centre."_

"What is it this time, chief?"

_"I'll explain when we meet."_ Ultra Magnus ended the communications link then, apparently seeing himself as above goodbyes. Wheeljack exchanged looks with Knock Out. It appeared that the former Decepticon doctor was just as confused as he was.

"Will he ever stop giving me things to do?" Wheeljack said aloud.

"That's doubtful..."

"It was a rhetorical question," Wheeljack interrupted. "You do know what those are, right?" The Autobot Wrecker could feel his frustration levels rising, ever so gradually. He had been at work non-stop ever since Cybertron's core had been restored. It was a constant stream of laborious, time-consuming tasks, none of which were particularly exciting or even mentally stimulating. For someone who had been a soldier as long as he had, it felt like a waste of genuine skills. He figured he should get used to it._ I don't think I ever will._


	4. Earth

**Earth**

In the heartland of Nevada and a hotbed of conspiracy theories, Area 51 was nothing more than an uncharacteristically large blot on an otherwise barren landscape. With rolling hills, flat plains and dry vegetation going on for miles on end, the airbase was very literally located in the middle of nowhere. Area 51 itself was a large compound comprised of squat rectangular buildings and large hangars, with a set of runways to boot, being a section of the somewhat larger Edwards Air Force Base. The buildings often gleamed silvery-grey in the harsh sunlight, especially now at this midday hour. The base sat on the mostly flat and perpetually dry Groom Lake. Even several miles from the compound's perimeter, security patrols were on the prowl. Orange markers denoted the limits of the actual restricted area and any civilian unfortunate enough to cross them, whether it be intentionally or not, would find themselves arrested within a matter of minutes. Surveillance cameras, most hidden about the perimeter, kept a constant eye on the surrounding desert. Given the secrecy and the security, it was no wonder the place had become a centre for so many modern legends. It had not been nicknamed 'Dreamland' for nothing.

Some of those legends might have been true. Jack Darby was one individual who had worked in and out of the place for some time, though he was yet to encounter any grey-skinned black-eyed aliens wielding probes. A chance encounter with a particular set of alien robots nine years ago had brought him into things he could have only ever dreamed about prior. Whatever ideas for a fairly ordinary life he had considered before that event had been thoroughly thrown askew. Not that he minded much, as the life he lived now was certainly a great deal more interesting than what most people lived.

He may have been a teenager when all this had begun, but he was an adult now. At twenty-five, Jack had been working properly with Unit-E for about five years. He was one of the few who had had actual close interaction with the Autobots and he had field experience to go with it. Nonetheless, he had been put through a training course once he had hit nineteen, just to make sure he was actually fit enough to be a proper member of the special unit. After about six months he had been put on official duties.

Now he found himself once again outside Hangar E, strolling his way to the entrance. Nearby, a group of soldiers in uniform jogged by on training drills. Above, an F-22 roared overhead. Jack, dressed in a fairly ordinary suit complete with tie, an outfit he had never felt much of a liking for if at all, stopped by the metal door located to one side of the large hangar doors. It was locked with a keypad and he was quick to punch in the appropriate numbers.

Jack was very much typical for a man of his age. Six-foot-four in height, slightly wavy short dark hair and a fair bit of muscle under his white shirt, Jack certainly looked the part for a government agent. Unit-E was one organization that was strictly off-the-books, headquartered right here in Hangar E.

The door in front of him clicked open and he pushed it, stepping into the somewhat cooler confines of the hangar before closing the door behind him. The interior was vast, with a lot of empty space where any resident Cybertronians would have certainly made use of if they were here. Ratchet, the Autobot medic, was off in the far corner, sorting through equipment. Nearby, a pair of armed guards stood on watch. Jack flashed his identification as he walked by them before heading up a flight of stairs and onto a walkway that ran the length of this side of the hangar. There were several doors along here, one in particular he headed for. Another, somewhat further up, still beared his name on the front.

_How long has it been?_ He wondered as he stopped by the intended door. There was a name plaque on the front: FOWLER, W. And underneath that, in smaller letters: DEFENCE INTELLIGENCE AGENCY. The DIA was one organization that was fairly obscure. Everybody knew about the FBI, the CIA and the NSA. It was the DIA the general population did not seem to pay much attention to, even if the agency in question was just as powerful as the others.

_This will be awkward._ Jack placed three sharp knocks on the door. There was no immediate response. He noticed a buzzer by the door and tried that instead. Finally, after a lengthy pause, he heard a familiar voice shout from inside.

"Come in!"

Jack grabbed the handle and turned it, pushing open the door before he stepped through. The office was a fairly mundane affair, with grey wallpaper and an American flag on a pole in the corner. The blinds were partially shut over the windows ahead. Agent William "Bill" Fowler of the Defence Intelligence Agency sat at an average-sized desk at the end of the room, to the left of the door. Jack stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

William Fowler was a fairly imposing man, always dressed in the same grey suit jacket with white shirt and striped tie. He had even been a US Army Ranger in his younger years, though whatever evidence of that rigorous lifestyle had faded with time. He was actually fairly plump, particularly at the stomach area. His hair, close-cropped and curly, was grey and his face beared some of the weathering of age.

Fowler had been sorting through some papers when Jack had walked in. He looked up from his work, his brow narrowed as he regarded the younger man.

"You certainly took your time," he said. "You come to get all your things?"

"It's good to see you too, Bill." Jack walked up to the desk and held out one hand, intending to shake. Fowler eyed the offered hand and then looked back up at Jack.

"Six months," he said. Jack lowered the hand and found himself at a sudden loss on what to say. He had been worried about what this meeting would be like. Fowler was a good man, if a little stubborn. He had also made his dislike of Jack's latest career choice very clear during their last talk.

"Six months you've been gone," Fowler continued. "No phone calls. No emails. No postcards. Heck, no one's set foot in your office for just as long. The whole place is probably dustier than my mother's attic." Fowler set down the few papers he had been holding and leaned back in his seat, his expression making his general annoyance clear. Was that a hint of betrayal in his eyes? Jack could not be certain. He would understand if Fowler indeed felt that way.

"I haven't quit. I got an assignment offered to me and I took it. That's all."

"An assignment? They took you away from me. From the Unit. That was practically an insult." Fowler paused then, letting out an exasperated sigh. "I'm one week away from retirement and you make your comeback _now_?"

Jack shrugged. What could he say? Fowler's imminent retirement was one reason why he had returned after a six month absence. He was bothered with himself that he had not kept in contact, but the nature of his assignment had prevented him from doing so.

"I read about those people you've been working for," Fowler said. "What are they called again? The..."

"The Special Reaction Taskforce."

"Yeah. Those guys. I tried to look them up. There's even less on the books about them than there is on Unit-E." Fowler frowned. "Unofficial sources, on the other hand, imply that these guys have been trying to reverse-engineer alien technology. Is that why they called you in? Since you had first-hand experience?"

"Pretty much." Jack did not like the awkwardness that was apparent between the two of them. Nor did he like the way Fowler was looking at him.

"What are they? Black ops?" Fowler set both his hands onto the table in front of him. "What was so important with them that you couldn't even give me a call?"

"They advised I don't, for security reasons. I haven't even been able to call mom."

"How is June?" Fowler's eyes noticeably lit up upon mention of his mother. Jack saw an outlet to turn the conversation to a slightly more upbeat tone and took it.

"She's doing fine," Jack replied. "She asked the same about you, when I talked to her before coming here." He had been about to add something along the lines of, 'why don't you give it another shot?' but decided against it. That, he realised, would have been an awfully idiotic thing to say. Thankfully, he was more prone to thinking before acting unlike other people he knew.

"Good to hear," Fowler said. "How did she react to your six month absence?"

"About the same way you are." Jack smiled, noticing that Fowler was doing the same.

Fowler nodded and leaned back in his chair, one hand going to his tie to adjust it slightly.

"You probably think I'm being a bit too harsh," Fowler said. The sudden change in subject caught Jack a little off-guard. "You're a young man. You have a whole life ahead of you. A whole career. You've certainly made good of what you've done so far, for the agency, for Unit-E. I'm just worried about the company you've fallen in with. This Taskforce." He paused, raising one eyebrow as he pondered what to add. "They must have given you a nice offer."

"I'm still getting my regular pay. They simply invited me to join them for a while. To be a consultant."

"Is that all?"

"Pretty much. You probably understand that I can't tell you the details. I had to sign non-disclosure agreements."

"I do understand." Fowler's mood had mellowed noticeably. Still, Jack could understand why he might be feeling even slightly betrayed. He had upped and left one day six months prior with hardly a proper 'goodbye'.

"I didn't expect to be stuck with them for as long as I was," Jack explained. "I'm one of the few with first-hand experience with Cybertronians. Apparently that was experience enough for them."

"I guess I should have warned you about my retirement earlier," Fowler mused. "Maybe then you wouldn't have left like you did. I mean, what we do here, Unit-E and all that..." He trailed off. The thought of leaving this life behind him was having a very noticeable effect on him. Jack could certainly understand, as Fowler had been in this line of work for many years. Putting it behind him would be no easy decision. "I was going to hand off full reign of the operation over to you."

"I thought as much."

"Yeah, it was pretty obvious, huh?" Fowler gave him a warm smile. "In a week, everything here will be under your, uh, _stewardship._ I'll be gone, probably in the Bahamas somewhere living off my fat government pension."

"The Bahamas?"

"Or Hawaii. I still haven't decided." There was uncertainty in his voice. Jack figured it was caused by more than a simple indecision between which holiday destination to visit.

"They're making you retire, aren't they?" Jack asked.

"I've been in this job for twenty years, Jack. When it comes to this sort of work, the higher-ups can get very picky. And when the higher-ups get changed around, the new guys who take their places like to change around what their predecessor left them with." He stopped there, giving himself a moment to think over what to say next. "They even wanted to dismantle Unit-E. I kicked up a serious stink about that."

"Dismantle?" This was the first Jack had heard of this. It was no wonder that Fowler had been so annoyed at him for being absent this long.

"A lot of different people want a piece of the action," Fowler said. "I think this Taskforce you had a stint with might be among them. We are, after all, right on the link between two worlds. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when the guy who replaced Bryce came by and suggested I retire."

"And you just agreed to it?" Jack was surprised, assuming the worst given Fowler's more solemn tone. The agent simply looked at him and shook his head.

"I agreed only when they agreed to my conditions. The big one was that you take my place once I'm gone."

"They bought it?"

"I still have some sway, even with the new guy," Fowler said, some pride seeping into his voice. "General Williamson isn't like Bryce. He's even more of a hardliner, but he recognized your contributions and thought it best you stay here. I'm not sure how that's going to work now, since you've been off gallivanting with the Taskforce. It's a clever tactic."

Jack found himself a little confused by the last statement. The Special Reaction Taskforce had been a somewhat more militarised version of Unit-E, without all the bureaucracy. It had seemed a more appealing group to work for, as much as he liked Fowler and the connection he had to Unit-E in general. He had come back, after all, and he certainly would not decline Fowler's offer of taking over once he retired.

"They took you away and heaped all this stuff onto me while you were gone," Fowler continued. "They were probably trying to suck you right in, that way once you took over you'd let them in on what goes on here."

Jack frowned. It sounded like paranoia, a first from Fowler. Jack had not been 'sucked in' by the Taskforce and he had told them very little of what went on in Unit-E. After all, he had required to sign non-disclosure agreements prior to starting his work here, much in the same way he had done for his six-month long stint in the Taskforce.

"I'd never let them take over," Jack said.

"I hope you mean that," Fowler replied. "But I don't think they'd be happy to hear that from you."

"It's funny you mention all this," Jack said. "I didn't just come back to catch up on what I've missed. There's someone from the Taskforce who wants to meet you. He'll probably be calling you anytime now."

Fowler raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. Jack had only heard the news in passing from the Taskforce's boss. It seemed only decent to give Fowler prior warning.

"He wants to talk to you. Probably try and sort something out along the lines of what you said." If what Fowler had been saying was close to the truth, then it would appear that the Special Reaction Taskforce had a very vested interest in Unit-E. Jack supposed it only made sense, given the Taskforce's specialisations. Working for them had been only slightly more interesting than working for Unit-E. Despite the change of pace, he was still grateful to be back here.

"Well, if he wants to talk, I'd be more than happy to oblige him," Fowler said. It sounded like he had quite a lot to say to the individual in charge of the Taskforce.

"Are you here to stay?" He asked suddenly.

"I've got a few loose ends back at the Taskforce's headquarters," Jack answered. "But once they're done with, I'll be back here. It sucks about your retirement, though. They're seriously _making_ you retire?"

"It was _suggested_ to me. And I thought I'd take it on board." Fowler certainly did not sound keen on the idea. Jack knew he would miss the guy once he had left. Working with him for as long as he had had made Fowler virtually family, as clichéd as he thought it sounded.

"I'll go sort out my office," Jack said. He held out his hand again, intending to shake. Fowler looked at it and, with a warm smile, clutched it with his own and the pair shook heartily. It was good to know that there were no hard feelings between them.

* * *

Conspiracy theorist websites were far from reliable sources, yet Fowler still found himself browsing them in his downtime. After Jack had gone to clean up his office, Fowler had switched his computer back on out of standby mode and had paid a visit to the more obscure regions of the worldwide web, where paranoia and crazy theories reigned supreme. Part of him read such things for amusement, another part of him found himself fascinated. And yet, there was an even smaller part of him that wanted to believe in this stuff. He knew aliens existed and he knew there were schemes in place to keep their existence under wraps. He was surprised to see some of the conspiracy bloggers, with their often wacky suggestions, were getting ever so closer to the truth. The only problem for them, he realised, was that they would likely overshoot the truth by a figurative mile and land in something even stranger than what was real.

General Robert Williamson had told him to consider retirement. The increasing amount of red-tape he had to jump through to get anything done around here had told him that it was probably for the best he follow the General's advice. Someone higher-up on the food chain wanted him gone, albeit in the friendly sense and not the 'arrange an accident' sort. Hopefully Jack would fare better against the rising tide of bullshit.

Fowler navigated his way onto an obscure conspiracy blog where several photos of black helicopters had been uploaded. He had never seen these unmarked black helicopters in person, though according to the conspiracy theorists they were just another arm of the far-reaching 'new world order' that was apparently working to take over the planet. After his run-ins with MECH and their goals for a 'new world order', Fowler had found himself taking these theories somewhat more seriously. Well, _slightly_ more seriously, anyway.

It was about an hour before the phone on his desk rang, interrupting his web browsing and derailing his thoughts. He picked it up, hearing the voice of one of the guards outside.

_"There's a man out here to see you, sir."_

"Who is he?" Fowler assumed this was the man from the Special Reaction Taskforce that Jack had mentioned.

_"Colonel Carver. He has the appropriate clearance. He even says he's willing to wait, if you're busy."_

"Tell him he can come see me," Fowler said. He hung up the phone then, unsure of what to expect when this Colonel arrived. He could at least look forward to getting some answers in regards to what the Taskforce actually did. As much as he would have liked Jack to tell him, it was understandable in this sort of work that the young man was bound by certain agreements against that sort of thing. Fowler had similar restrictions. He simply could not go out on the street and tell passers-by that he worked with aliens for a living. _Then again, even if I did do that, no one would believe me._ Rival organizations would not want their employees spilling details to each other. Is that what the Taskforce was to Unit-E? A 'rival'? He hardly knew enough about them to make a solid conclusion.

His train of thought was broken at that moment by a knock at the door of his office. Fowler turned his attention towards it.

"Come on in," he called. The door opened, revealing the tall and well-built visitor behind it. He stepped inside, his booted feet clunking audibly upon the firm carpeted floor.

If Fowler was standing up, this visitor would be taller by a few inches. The man was middle-aged, presumably in his late forties at first guess. He was dressed in a dark uniform, black mostly, lacking any of the multi-coloured medal ribbons one might expect on the uniform of an officer. His shoulders bore the insignia of a Colonel, as well as a patch that Fowler had not seen before: it was a simple black and white stitching of a pair of snakes coiled around a sword with a sphere, no doubt representing the Earth, backgrounding the piece. This Colonel wore a set of black gloves, somewhat ill-fitting for the heat of the Nevada desert. _It's like he doesn't want to leave his prints on anything._ The thought was an absent one, but it was one that struck Fowler as being likely true. There was no name tag on the front of his uniform, somewhat uncharacteristic for an officer's outfit.

"You're-"

"Colonel Jerome Carver," the man said, his voice level, with a stern edge and rough undertone. He had likely acquired that rough tone from yelling at his subordinates. Fowler figured him for the type right away. A definite drill sergeant sort, judging from the sound of his voice. Carver closed the door behind him and approached the desk, holding out one hand. Fowler eyed it but did nothing.

Carver retracted the offered hand and sat down in one of the two vacant seats across the desk from Fowler. He wore a black peaked cap. The hair that was visible from underneath was grey in places, particularly at the sideburns.

"I take it Mr. Darby mentioned I was coming by?" Carver asked. He spoke each word carefully, his tone perfectly level. The man practically reeked of military protocol. Fowler was fairly confident in his assumption that Carver had been in busy since he had been old enough to join.

"Yes, yes he did." Fowler frowned. "That's about all he did tell me about you and what your people do."

"Secrecy is important. You of all people should know that."

"Yeah. I just don't like it when my star employee leaves for six months to work for a bunch of people I've never heard of before." Fowler realised he may have sounded angry. He did feel a little that way, but it was mostly frustration he felt. Letting his emotions get to him was probably not the best approach here.

"That was only temporary," Carver said. "I introduced Mr. Darby to our organization and what we stand for. I wanted him to see how we compared to your little operation here."

"You wanted to sucker him into joining up with you," Fowler countered. He may have sounded paranoid, but he was certain this had been the Colonel's intention. "Convenient, since he's the one who'll take over Unit-E when I'm gone."

"And I'm sure he's up for the task."

There was a pause. Carver put an arm to either armrest of the chair.

"What do you people do, anyway?" Fowler asked. He doubted he would get much of an answer. "The Special Reaction Taskforce, that is what you call yourselves?"

"Yes, that is what we're called," Carver replied. "We were formed about three years ago through a secret executive order from the President himself."

"You have the Commander-in-Chief's approval?" Fowler could not keep his disbelief from seeping into his voice. He thought that maybe Carver was pulling his leg, that there was no way that something like this could have gone down without him becoming aware of it. He had been convinced that Unit-E was the first and foremost organization when it came to interactions with the Cybertronians. Apparently he had been mistaken.

"Of course we do," Carver deadpanned. "You might think Unit-E is the frontline when it comes to alien incursions, but it's my Taskforce that has taken up the mantle of protecting this planet."

Fowler felt his incredulity well on the rise. Not once he had been told of the Taskforce, nor of any other group that might have had significant involvement with the Cybertronians. "Your little group here, with your pet Autobot, keeps diplomatic channels open. The Special Reaction Taskforce is what defends this planet, Agent Fowler."

"Pet Autobot?" It took Fowler a moment to realise who Carver was referring to. "You mean Ratchet?"

"Yes, I mean Ratchet." Carver gave an almost roguish smile. "They do give themselves funny names, don't you think?"

Fowler did not answer the question. He was still trying to get over the fact that Carver's Taskforce had as much of an involvement in defending the planet as he said they did.

"Your 'unit' keeps diplomatic channels open, as I've said. But who does the heavy-lifting? There are no Autobots here, save for the one. The others only visit on occasion. There's no actual force of them to defend this planet for us. We have to do that ourselves. That's why the Taskforce exists." Carver said all this bluntly, as if it were common knowledge. The man practically exuded confidence. The aura he carried around him was that of superiority, or at least assumed superiority. Being a Colonel and in charge of some kind of black ops outfit was probably something very few people would be able to achieve. Individuals like that needed to be confident and willing to throw others to the wayside if it meant advancing their own ends. Fowler had known people like Carver in the past, men (and a few women, for that matter) who might have been good officers, but to get to that position they had essentially clawed their way to the top and mauled several people on the way up.

"We're the Earth's newest line of defence against an alien menace," Carver added.

"There's been no 'alien menace' for years." Fowler was certain of this. The Decepticons had been finished for several years. Cybertron was at peace and most former Decepticons had given up the fight. There had been a truce with the larger factions, since Megatron's 'retirement' had sent their forces into disarray. A lot of Decepticon warlords with their own little bands of bad guys had fought each other for whatever scraps of power were left for them, though none of this had happened on Earth. If it had, Fowler would have known about it. He was surprised when Carver said the one thing he had not been expecting, in this regard.

"That's where you're wrong, Agent Fowler." Carver sounded almost smug, as if knowing something Fowler did not gave him some sort of satisfaction. It very likely did. "The 'alien menace' will never go away. Earth is a world with a past inextricably linked to that of Cybertron."

"I meant that there have been no Decepticon incursions for several years," Fowler countered. "I don't see why we need a 'Taskforce' to fight a threat that hasn't actually been a _threat_ for this long."

"Again, you're mistaken," Carver said. "There are many Decepticons out there, not all of them have fallen in line with the disbanding of their forces. And there are some that have foolishly come to Earth in the last three years, since the Taskforce's inception. Each time, my people have been there to intercept them."  
Fowler would have scoffed in disbelief had he been talking to anyone else. The Colonel did not seem the sort who would make things up. Certainly nothing to that scale. Unit-E was supposed to have a handle on the Decepticons, not some Taskforce he had only recently learned existed.

"How could that have happened without me learning of it?" Fowler asked. "Without Ratchet finding out?"

"We keep such things under wraps, Agent Fowler." He paused for a moment and Fowler thought he saw traces of a smirk on the man's weathered visage. If there was, it was only a fleeting look that quickly gave way to Carver's mostly stoic exterior. "Besides, what would your 'Unit' do, if faced with Decepticon intruders? You have one Autobot on the premises. A medical officer at that, so he's hardly qualified for a fight."

"Ratchet is more than able to hold his own," Fowler said. His tone became defensive, the Colonel's thinly-veiled insult towards the Autobot not escaping his attention. However, it was probably best if he kept his emotions under strict control in the face of Colonel Carver. He did not want to give the man the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him. "And we can contact the other Autobots at any time through the space-bridge. Cybertron's practically a short walk away."

"That also makes for the perfect invasion vector."

"What the heck are you on about?"

"Cybertron, from what I've learned, isn't exactly at 'peace'. As I've said, there are many Decepticon warlords out there, not necessarily on Cybertron, who would happily start another war. If they incited another war on Cybertron, they could very well come walking through that 'bridge' of yours with their guns blazing." Again, his tone was level, stating all this as if it was common knowledge. "All it takes is another war to erupt, for past grievances to get the better of those Cybertronians who may not have been too keen on the end of the war the first time around."

"And I thought _I_ was getting paranoid," Fowler commented. "Are all you black ops guys like this? Seeing threats where they aren't?"

"It's my job to protect this country, Agent Fowler, much as it is for you," Carver stated. He sounded sincere. "It's also my job to protect the human species in general from the threat that the Cybertronians, and any other alien race that might be out there, pose to us. Since the Special Reaction Taskforce was created, we have destroyed fourteen Decepticon intruders."

"You have records to back that up?" Fowler really needed to talk to General Williamson about this. Having all this information laid out on him now, so close to his scheduled retirement, was simply fuelling his desire to remain on board. A desire that would likely lead him into more trouble, he realised, but he sure as hell would not allow Unit-E to fall under the sway of some hardline black ops Colonel.

"I can forward you the appropriate records," Carver said. "Well, as much as I am at liberty to disclose, anyway. You may think your work is top secret. The lengths the Taskforce goes to in order to keep things under wraps makes Unit-E look like the Postal Service." He almost cracked a smile then, a slight curling of the corners of his mouth, but the action was so brief and stilted that most people would have missed it. Fowler noticed it and he felt a wave of anger building deep within him. Carver's attitude towards the operation here was blatantly clear.

"That's fourteen rogue Decepticons," Carver added.

"I think the Autobots scrapped a whole lot more than that while they were here," Fowler replied.

"Perhaps. Most were likely Vehicon drones. I'm talking actual Decepticons, beyond the drone-level. My people hunted them and killed them."

"Okay, Colonel. I get it. Your 'Taskforce' is so much better than what I've got here." Fowler gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Did you decide, when you woke up this morning, that you'd come on down here and rub it all in my face? I'm surprised you haven't mentioned how you tried to sucker in Jack with all this."

"He was a consultant, nothing more," Carver said. He spoke his words deliberately, as if each one had been pre-selected after careful thought. "And no, Agent Fowler, I didn't come here to rub it in your face. That would be petty and more fitting for a teenager. I came here because, believe it or not, the Taskforce requires your assistance."

"Oh, so the only time you come here is because you want something?" Fowler would have laughed at how typical the situation had suddenly become, were it not for the serious way in which Carver was watching him. There was something about the Colonel's piercing blue eyes that made him feel uneasy.

"The Taskforce has been in contact with a Decepticon officer for some time," Carver explained, ignoring Fowler's question. "He's a warlord, much like the ones I've mentioned. He calls himself a 'General'. It's likely the title is self-awarded. We made contact with him, or rather _he_ made contact with us after we eliminated one of his scouts."

"You've been talking with a Decepticon warlord?" Fowler's disbelief in the matter seeped its way into his voice. "So, what? He's on Earth?"

"Of course he is," Carver said. "He's probably been on Earth for some time, we simply were unaware until he came out and contacted us. The thing with this 'General' is that he wants to negotiate. Not just with us humans, but with the Autobots."

Fowler started shaking his head. This was getting to be too much. He had already needed to swallow a whole lot of bullshit from the Colonel, if anything this latest bit of news was icing on the bullshit cake.

"Unit-E liaises with the Autobots," Carver said. "As you can see, what I want should be clear."

"You want me to set up a negotiation? As in, have a nice get-together with some Decepticon I've never met before and a bunch of Autobots?" Fowler laughed out loud then. In contrast, Carver kept a straight face. "That's nuts. Absolutely nuts. Are you screwing with me, Colonel? Is this some kind of near-retirement practical joke?"

"I'm afraid it's no joke," Carver stated. "The Decepticon General wishes to negotiate with the Autobots. He sees Earth as neutral ground. He also desires the rights to mine energon here, as Earth has some very sizeable deposits of the substance."

"Can't he just go to Cybertron?"

"He doesn't trust the Autobots enough to do that," Carver replied. "Would you go into potentially hostile territory to negotiate with the enemy?" Fowler was about to respond but Carver continued speaking before the agent could interject. "You would find neutral territory. Earth is suitable neutral territory. At least now it is, since the Autobots are gone."

"You can't trust the 'Cons," Fowler said, bluntly. "The fact that there are more of them on Earth is news to me, Colonel. It's probably best you find where he's hiding out and bomb him back to the stone age. Better yet, I'm sure some of the Autobots would be more than willing to find him and whatever goons he has so they can blow them away." He could send Ratchet through the ground-bridge, send him back to Cybertron and tell the other Autobots the situation.

"He's running out of energon," Carver said. "He and his troops are in a very sorry state. That's why he wishes to negotiate. Sending the Autobots in to destroy them hardly seems sporting, does it? They want to negotiate and I feel it's in our best interests to do so."

"_Your_ best interests." Fowler had no real desire to help the Colonel on this matter. In fact, he was seriously close to calling in Ratchet and telling him the situation. That way Ratchet could go get some of his friends from Cybertron and they could put an end to this situation with the Decepticon 'General' real quickly, if the Decepticons in question really were in a 'sorry' state.

"I'm afraid you haven't much choice in the matter," Colonel Carver said. With one hand, he reached into his jacket and pulled from a pocket there a letter. Fowler saw the Presidential seal upon it and felt his heart lurch in his stomach. Whatever level this Taskforce operated on, they had as much support as Unit-E. This was a disconcerting thought, to realise that for three years his work here had been undermined by a group that was too shady even for him.

"Orders from the Secretary of Defence," Carver said. He handed the letter across the desk to Fowler, who snatched it up reluctantly and flipped open the envelope. "He wants Unit-E and the Special Reaction Taskforce to work together on this one. Hence why I'm here."

Fowler took out the notice from within the envelope and skimmed through it. Typical of orders of its kind, it was concise and free of any flowery language. Essentially, the Secretary of Defence wanted the two organizations to settle the matter through cooperation and by enlisting any Autobot assistance they required. However, the sort of assistance Fowler had had in mind was quelled when he read the last few sentences: _If at all possible, a peaceful solution to this situation is preferable. The United States government has no desire to ignite an alien war through any overzealous military involvement, human or alien in origin._

"If we were to launch a full scale assault upon an enemy who has called for a truce, we would simply add to whatever political problems are occurring on Cybertron," Carver said. Fowler put the letter down, his thoughts conflicted. This had not been what he had been expecting today and certainly not a week before his retirement. "The potential here, through peaceful means, is considerable. We would not want our Autobot allies to think of us as barbarians if we laid waste to an inferior force of Decepticons, especially those who wish for peace. The Autobots are due to renew their treaty with our government, so I feel that the timing for negotiating with a hostile force could not have been better."

"The treaty?" Fowler had almost forgotten about that.

"The President intends full disclosure within the next ten years," Carver explained.

"I heard." Fowler still was not sure of the sanity behind that particular decision, but who was he to argue with the big boss? Carver did not seem to have a problem with it.

"A successful negotiation, compounded by a renewed treaty, will go down well in any history books written about this age in history," Carver said.

"Age?" Fowler should have guessed that the Colonel fancied himself a history-maker. The sort of man who's one goal in life was to have an impact on the world around him.

"An age of miracles," Carver replied. "Alien contact, advancements in technology. Peaceful negotiation with a previously hostile alien force. We could make history in the coming weeks, Agent Fowler. Why would you not want to be a part of that history?" The Colonel sounded almost proud of himself. Fowler was not so easily drawn in, not when there were Decepticons involved. However, he could not go against official orders, certainly not from the Secretary of Defence. As an agent for the Defence Intelligence Agency and, in turn, the boss of Unit-E, Fowler answered directly to the Sec-Def (and the President on occasion). Carver was likely working within a similar hierarchy.

"I suggest you arrange contact with the Autobots on the other side of the space-bridge," Carver said, the sound of his voice enough to bring Fowler out of his brief reverie. "Bring them here and I'll get in touch with the Decepticon General."

"The political situation on Cybertron isn't as bad as you seem to think," Fowler said.

"I've read the reports. The Autobots may be in charge, but there are a number of factions vying for control. We'd do well to attempt a peaceful solution here, rather than add fuel to the fire." Carver rose out of his chair then, holding out a gloved hand to shake. Fowler, reluctantly, took it in his own and briefly shook hands with Carver.

"There's a future for both Earth and Cybertron, together," Carver said. "And we can be the men who herald that future." He broke off the handshake then, seemingly scrutinising Fowler for a moment. "You are a man of integrity, Agent Fowler. I can see that. So I see no reason why we would not be able to work together on this matter, or any others that may crop up in future."

"Yeah, well, it's a lot to digest," Fowler said. "I wasn't expecting to have this stuff heaped on me today."

"We cannot be prepared for absolutely everything," Carver replied. "Goodbye for now, Fowler. I'll be in touch." He turned around then and strode over to the door. There, he grasped the handle and pulled it open before heading out. Once the door shut behind him and Colonel Carver was gone, Fowler sat back in his chair and let out an extended sigh.

_A week from retirement,_ he thought._ Why does this all come up now?_ Maybe a higher power had it in for him, or maybe Carver had set it all up intentionally just to mess with him. Whatever the reason behind it all, Fowler had a feeling that he would not enjoy the next few days.


	5. Command and Control

**Command and Control**

The Autobots central command centre was located on the upper levels of one of the monolithic towers. Gaining access to the tower in question required a short walk through the streets outside the main council chambers, particularly those that weaved through a few of the narrower lanes before passing the base of the tower. From there, the elevators were available to take any visitors up to the command centre where the ground and space-bridge control centres were located. It was probably the most important location in Iacon, second only to the council building.

Wheeljack was on his way there, having worked his way out of the council chambers and into one of the narrow lanes that wound around the building's perimeter. He was accompanied by Knock Out, who trailed behind him by a few metres. Wheeljack had no real desire to be seen hanging out with a Decepticon, even an 'ex' Decepticon like Knock Out. Even he knew it was a bit vain, worried over what impression his choice of company might make in the eyes of others. Still, he could not shake this concern and he found himself somewhat grateful that these particular narrow streets were mostly empty.

The restoration effort had been through here during the earliest stages, cleaning the streets and fixing up the buildings, most of which had been left as ruined hulks as a result of the war. Now they appeared almost as good as new, though with a visible patchwork of repairs, imperfections caused when any holes had been built over with newer metal. There were some Cybertronians out on the streets despite the fairly late hour, where the system's sun hung low on the horizon and the sky above had taken a darker shade. Wheeljack started for the tower up ahead, its door guarded by a pair of bored looking Autobots. A few engineers, denoted as such by the orange highlights at the shoulders of their armour, walked by in the opposite direction. Makeshift market stalls lined the street on Wheeljack's left the nearer he got to the tower. Most were selling junk, primarily scrap metal that might have been put to better use on the restoration of the city. The majority of the vendors were Decepticon in some form, save for the few Autobot opportunists who had decided to take advantage of the burgeoning junk market.

_Scrap metal for energon. Some would do anything for more._ Even with the city's refinery working at seventy-percent efficiency, there still had to be some degree of rationing. Ultra Magnus had been very careful in deciding who got what amount, putting a blanket rationing scheme over the entire population instead of giving any one group a larger amount. Anything to ease tensions.

"These streets could do with a makeover," Knock Out said from behind him. Wheeljack ignored him, even as the former Decepticon fell into step alongside him. "The repairs stand out, don't you think? Wouldn't it be ironic for a slum to crop up right next to the council buildings?"

"I'm not sure that's 'irony'," Wheeljack said, his tone sour. He barely looked over at Knock Out. Working with the 'Con on the cataloguing had been enough. Honorary Autobot or not, Wheeljack doubted he would ever genuinely "like" Knock Out.

There was graffiti on parts of the walls near the tower entrance, among them posters that had been plastered over much of it. Wheeljack noticed the lone Autobot standing near the wall, one whom was staring straight at him and had been doing so for the last few minutes. The Autobot in question was of an average size, mostly blue in colour with some grey complementing the finish. Under one arm was tucked a data-pad. Behind him, someone had scrawled in the Decepticon dialect a few messages. Wheeljack picked up on some of the phrases, but others had either faded or been covered over with posters.

_NO PEACE. NO FORGIVENESS. ALL HAIL._ The rest of the phrase had been covered over with a few posters and some newer graffiti. It appeared that whoever the graffiti artist was hailing would remain a mystery.

_Trust some 'Cons to hold old grudges,_ Wheeljack thought. _The feeling's mutual._

The Autobot ahead of him raised a hand, gesturing towards him. He wanted Wheeljack to come over. Wheeljack stopped in his tracks, unsure of whether to simply keep walking or to humour the Autobot. He had not seen this particular Autobot before and could only guess as to why he wanted his attention.

"What is it?" Knock Out asked him, stopping just to his right. "You're really not going to give these street preachers the time of day, are you?"

"What do you want?" Wheeljack looked at the Autobot by the wall. There was several metres space between them, space the Autobot closed quickly once Wheeljack had acknowledged his desire for attention. He found himself regretting ever stopping in the first place, aware that in this instance his curiosity had lead him into a somewhat awkward situation. He saw at the close proximity that this Autobot was old, his frame was battered in places and he was missing one optic. In its place he had bolted on a crude metal patch.

"I can see it on you," the Autobot said, his voice croaky. One hand clutched Wheeljack by the shoulder but he quickly broke free of the grasp. He took a step back from the older Autobot, his face contorting into an annoyed scowl in response to this invasion of his personal space.

"Do I know you?" Wheeljack asked. He figured he already knew the answer to that question.

"He's chosen you. I know it."

"Whatever." Wheeljack was dealing with a whack-job, this much was clear.

"And so it was written, in the Book of Nova Prime, that the Age of Primes would end and a chosen few would arise to herald the next age!" The Autobot street preacher got a manic look in his one optic. Wheeljack started walking past him, only to be followed. He had to resist the urge to punch the 'Bot in the face.

"These few would either lead us to salvation, or into ruin!"

Wheeljack picked up his pace, as did Knock Out, and the pair moved to the tower's entrance. The two Autobot guards here stepped forwards, both of which went for the street preacher. He was unable to follow Wheeljack any further when the two Autobot guards grabbed him by the arms and motioned him away from the door.

"What's his problem?" Wheeljack asked no one in particular. The tower door ahead of him slid open. He realised that it had been a long time since he had last been accosted on a street by a whacko. Old Cybertron, as it had been before the war and even during it, when Iacon had remained stalwart against Decepticon aggression, had had its fair share of homeless lining the streets. Some of them had kept to themselves, others had stirred up trouble with passers-by. The last few months, before Iacon had fallen to the Decepticons, had been especially bad in this regard. Non-combatant refugees had flooded the streets with many fighting over whatever limited supplies had been available. Wheeljack did not want to see anything like that happen again, certainly not here in Iacon.

"The more things change, the more they stay the same," Knock Out said, almost as if he had read the Autobot's mind. Wheeljack did not reply. He continued into the tower's main lobby, a well-lit but sparsely decorated room where a guard sat at a desk alone. He pointed the pair to the nearest elevator.

"Whatever the chief wants," Wheeljack said, as he and Knock Out made their way to the elevator, "It better be worth the time."

"Having trouble with the workload, Wheeljack?" Knock Out's tone was always smug to some degree, even more so this time around. "We all have to do our part. Even 'Wreckers' like yourself."

The pair stepped into the fairly wide elevator and Wheeljack tapped the appropriate key on the holographic panel by the door. The doors slid shut behind them and the elevator began its gradual ascent to the topmost docking platform.

"I think I pull my weight around here a lot more than you do, red," Wheeljack replied. He watched Knock Out through his peripheral vision, finding the prospect of riding an elevator of the former Decepticon an unappealing one. Wheeljack had no real desire to small-talk with a Decepticon. Still, if he found an opportunity to get on Knock Out's nerves he would take it.

"I do have a name, you know," Knock Out said, narrowing his optics. Wheeljack could certainly think of a few harsher nicknames for the ex-Decepticon. "And I do recall helping you catalogue those items."

"That job's barely half-finished," Wheeljack said. "Once we're done with Magnus, we're heading back to the workshop."

There was a brief silence between the two of them. The rumble of the elevator was the only sound Wheeljack could make out. At least until Knock Out opened his mouth again.

"I train the newest generation of doctors." Knock Out's voice adopted a defensive edge. "I'd say my role here is just as important as yours."

"I think Ratchet would do a better job." Wheeljack smirked when he saw Knock Out cringe. He had struck a nerve with that comment. "I'm just saying..."

"I'll keep your comment in mind if you ever end up on my operating table." Knock Out seemed happy with this reply, judging from the way he smirked. "When you're bleeding out all over, I'll simply make a call for Ratchet and we can both wait around for him to show. Hopefully you won't be dead by the time he gets to you."

"Ha! You're a real piece of work, 'Con." Wheeljack turned his head, regarding Knock Out with some slight amusement. There was also a healthy dose of disgust evident on his features directed towards the Decepticon doctor. "Guess you 'Cons never change, huh?" He stepped closer to Knock Out, noticing that the former Decepticon stood his ground, even as he peered at him with a loathsome gaze. "The others might trust you, they might even think of you as a _friend_. But me? I think all you 'Cons are the same. I _know_ you're all the same. Especially your sort. The ones who would sell out their own comrades if it meant keeping their own afts intact." With one finger, he crudely prodded Knock Out in the middle of the chest. Even though the Decepticon doctor seemed unfazed, there was a hint within the look from his optics that betrayed the anxiety he felt. "We might work together, but I will never trust you. That is one thing you can be absolutely sure of."

The elevator stopped then and the doors slid open. Wheeljack stepped away from Knock Out and departed the elevator. The former Decepticon quickly composed himself and followed him. Any desire for small-talk had left him.

* * *

The command and control centre for Iacon took up much of the upper levels of the tower. It was heavily guarded, as any place with its importance would be, and Ultra Magnus spent just as much time here as he did in the council chambers. The main control centre, where the ground-bridge was located, was a vast circular chamber with numerous computer monitors lining the walls and workspaces attached to each. Ultra Magnus even had his own seat in the centre of it all, as well as a large and thick window ahead that gave him a wide view of the city below. Such a thing might be considered a structural weakness, given the importance of the place, but there were thick blast shields that could be brought down over the glass at the push of a button. The ground-bridge here had been non-functioning when the Autobots had first reclaimed the building after the Well of Allsparks had been restored. Parts of the ground-bridge systems in the Decepticon dreadnought _Nemesis_ had been salvaged and used to bring the ground-bridge here back online. With it working, the Autobots had a direct link to Earth and could even transport their own to others points on Cybertron's surface.

There were several other Autobots working nearby, most manning computers. Ultra Magnus stood by the command chair, hands clasped behind his back. Bumblebee had been waiting nearby, leaning against one of the half a dozen pillars that were spaced about the room. He had been speaking quietly with the female working the computer nearest to him, a tall silvery one at that whom Ultra Magnus had known for several years. She was larger than most females, yet still retained an elegantly curvaceous frame that was no doubt built for speed yet carried a visible and significant amount of strength.

"Wildstrike," Ultra Magnus said, getting her attention. She spun around and looked straight at him.

"What is it, sir?"

"What's the status on the power generators?"

"They're operating at eighty-five percent efficiency, sir."

Ultra Magnus nodded. More than enough to keep the ground-bridge systems running, especially since he intended to leave for Earth by the end of the day. Wildstrike stepped forwards then, a curious look on her narrow features. She was mostly silver, with blue trims across her chest and shoulders. She also had a crest, slightly smaller compared to the one Ultra Magnus had upon his head. Hers was a metallic blue in colour, much like his own. The Autobot emblem she wore at either shoulder had the extra chevrons that indicated her as a member of the Elite Guard.

"I heard you've been having trouble with the Decepticon workers unions, sir," she said.

Ultra Magnus stepped off of the short platform so he could be level with her. Being on the same level as those you commanded, especially when you spoke with them, did much to make some subordinates feel more comfortable. Then again, Wildstrike had always struck him as a particularly able sort, not one who was easily fazed by such things.

"News travels fast," he said drily.

"Wouldn't it make more sense to send some of our people in? To enforce the rules a little better?" She meant the Elite Guard in general. There were still some members of that particular branch of the Autobot military left. Ultra Magnus had been part of it, prior to being placed in charge of the Wreckers.

"I'm trying to avoid that sort of action," he replied. As much as he would have liked to enforce the law in the 'old-fashioned way', he knew full well that it would simply create more trouble. "The Decepticon workers, or at least _former_ Decepticons who comprise a large section of the labour force, are very sensitive to that sort of thing. Diplomacy is the only option we have, if we're to keep the peace."

"Old grudges don't go away easy," Bumblebee interjected. He came away from the pillar he had been leaning on, standing upright. Ultra Magnus looked at the young warrior and was reminded of a younger, more idealistic version of himself. "I was just talking to Wildstrike about joining the Elite Guard. It's something I've been contemplating, sir."

"You can join what you want, Bumblebee," Ultra Magnus said. "Of course, you would have to go through the entrance exams like every candidate."  
Bumblebee smiled and nodded in understanding.

"Yeah, I know. I still haven't decided."

"I'm sure you'd do great, Bumblebee," Wildstrike said, glancing at him with a warm smile.

"Like I said, I'm still thinking about it," the young warrior replied.

"Wildstrike here entered training shortly after she arrived back on Cybertron," Ultra Magnus said. Wildstrike had arrived with a small group of Autobots a few months after the Well of Allsparks had been restored. "Back then, the only other Guardsmen we had was Smokescreen and myself. If you want to join, Bumblebee, we could certainly use the numbers." Ultra Magnus would make sure the Elite Guard endured. That was one group he wanted to keep going.

"But what will you do about the workers, sir?" Wildstrike asked. "They're going to keep asking for things. Something's going to give, eventually."

"I'll handle the politics, Wildstrike," Ultra Magnus answered. Wildstrike was the inquisitive sort and it was something he liked about her, even if she sometimes stuck her nose in things she did not need to. "You have your own duties to attend to."

"Well, I have been considering a career on the political scene," she said, her mouth forming into a wry smile. Ultra Magnus could not be certain if she was being serious or not. He narrowed his optics as he listened to her. "I just like to keep informed, sir."

"And that's fine. But you may wish to reconsider the career choice. This sort of work can burn out neurons. I certainly wouldn't want to see an able soldier such as yourself waste your talents in politics."

"Is that your honest opinion, sir?" Wildstrike maintained her smile. It occurred to Ultra Magnus that he was probably being a bit too honest in regards to his views on politics. He should have been encouraging people to get involved, rather than the opposite. Yet, for the life of him he had no desire to see Wildstrike or Bumblebee or any other warrior under his command waste away in a political position, forced to deal with petty squabbles and mediate between rival groups. That was no way for a soldier to utilise their talents. Sometimes he felt like he was wasting away in the position.

"It's my off-the-record opinion, Wildstrike," Ultra Magnus replied.

There was a beeping noise from one of the consoles. Wildstrike turned around and stepped towards the nearby terminal. Bumblebee looked over her shoulder, curious as to what it meant.

"There's an incoming ground-bridge," Wildstrike announced after a brief once over of the information displayed upon the terminal. "It's from Earth."

Ultra Magnus frowned. Very rarely did any human visitors come through on the ground/space-bridge. When they did, they needed to be suited up since one thing Cybertron was lacking was a breathable atmosphere.

A swirling array of green and blues erupted at the far end of the walkway nearby, filling the open corridor ahead. Lights lit up along the edge of the entrance-way and along the floor leading up to it. Ultra Magnus looked into the heart of the mass of green energy and watched as a familiar and somewhat tall, bulky Autobot strolled from within. Once he was through, the energy dissipated, with much of it withdrawing into a central point that seemingly vanished into thin air. Ratchet stood on the walkway, his face formed into his usually stern expression.

"Chief Medical Officer Ratchet," Ultra Magnus said. The Autobot medic approached him and, unlike most, did not salute. He was not the type for that.

"Ultra Magnus, sir."

"Your arrival is unscheduled. What brings you to Cybertron?" Ultra Magnus clasped his hands behind his back. He was yet to gain any sufficient explanation as to why Ratchet had chosen to stay on Earth. Only occasionally did he come back to Cybertron for a visit and that was usually so he could pick up equipment for his own work, as the technology on Earth was not quite up to scratch for his purposes. As much as Ultra Magnus would have preferred the medic to be here, he could respect Ratchet's decision to remain on the other world. Even if Ratchet was not the most combat experienced Autobot, he had still proven himself out on the field on more than one occasion.

"Bumblebee has already updated me on the situation with the treaty," Ultra Magnus added.

"That's not why I'm here, sir," Ratchet said.

At that moment, the double doors at the other end of the room slid open. Ultra Magnus turned around, watching as Wheeljack and Knock Out stepped inside. The pair made their way over to him. The Autobot Commander sensed the animosity between the two almost right away, judging from the way in which Wheeljack moved quickly ahead of the Decepticon doctor.

"The two of you took your time," Ultra Magnus noted. Wheeljack shrugged as he approached.

"What do you want, chief?" He asked. "I've got a lot on my plate. Most of it is stuff you put on it." The mostly white Autobot looked over to Ratchet and smiled. "Hey, doc."

Ratchet had long since given up on correcting Wheeljack's use of the nickname, even if it still visibly miffed him.

"Wheeljack," he said simply. Knock Out stepped forwards, bowing his head slightly towards Ratchet.

"Greetings, doctor."

Ratchet let out an annoyed huff in response and returned his attention towards Ultra Magnus.

"Commander, it's not just the renewal of the treaty you have to worry about now," Ratchet said. "I was sent here on request of Agent Fowler."

"How is ol' Bill, anyway?" Wheeljack interjected. He did not seem too concerned with interrupting what Ultra Magnus had a feeling was an important message from Earth. "His hair still turning grey?"

"He's fine, Wheeljack." He narrowed his optics. "And I don't think the state of his hair is really important. Do you?"

Wheeljack curled one corner of his mouth and raised a brow. A sort of 'facial shrug', the sort of look Ultra Magnus had come to expect from the Wrecker.

"I'm just asking." Wheeljack shifted his gaze towards Ultra Magnus. "So, chief, why'd you call us up here?"

"I was going to request you to serve as part of the escort for when I go to renew the Human-Autobot Alliance Treaty," Ultra Magnus replied. "As for Knock Out, I was going to have him arrange a delivery of supplies to Ratchet on Earth. It appears he won't need to do that now." He looked over to Ratchet, curious to hear what the important news from Earth was. It was very out of the ordinary for Ratchet to arrive back on Cybertron without any sort of prior warning.

"So I can go?" Knock Out asked earnestly.

"No." If anyone here had a habit of attempting to squirm their way out of their assigned tasks, it was Knock Out. He may have been their best doctor (save for Ratchet), but he had the irritating habit of actively avoiding the serious dirty work. It would be a strange day when one saw Knock Out working on a construction site, or doing any significant manual labour on his own accord.

"There's a situation on Earth," Ratchet said. "I didn't quite believe it myself when Fowler told me. Some kind of organization, a human 'Taskforce' has been operating and under-handing the efforts of Unit-E. It's only now they chose to reveal themselves."

Ultra Magnus did not find this too hard to believe. His experience with humans in general had been fairly limited compared to the other Autobots who had spent time on Earth. However, he had made it a point to learn as much as he could about them, having scoured and perused their worldwide web during his stay on their world. Their history had been rife with conflict of all sorts and the humans had done things to one another that made the Autobot-Decepticon war look tame in comparison. The fact that a bunch of humans had 'underhanded' Unit-E did not surprise him in the slightest. Bumblebee had mentioned such a thing, albeit with not much detail.

"What do you mean 'underhanded'?" Wheeljack asked, his face contorting into a frown.

"This 'Taskforce' sees itself as the first line of defence against alien intruders," Ratchet explained. "They've been hunting down Decepticons without Fowler and I even knowing."

"And that's a problem?"

"The secrecy is what concerns Fowler and I," Ratchet replied. "They chose to reveal themselves after three Earth years in operation. And that's only because of circumstances that even they didn't foresee."

"What's happened, Ratchet?" Ultra Magnus asked. It appeared his intention for a fairly ordinary and somewhat political visit to Earth had been thrown askew, if Ratchet's serious tone was anything to go by. Then again, he realised that Ratchet sounded serious just about all the time.

"A Decepticon 'General' made contact with them," Ratchet said. "He wants to negotiate. Not just with the humans, but with _us_ as well."

"Negotiate?" Wheeljack scoffed. "You can't trust the 'Cons to negotiate."

Bumblebee stepped forwards and uttered something similar.

"I find that a little hard to believe," he said.

"This 'General' hasn't made his desires clear," Ratchet added, "But if my information is correct, then he and his soldiers are low on supplies. They're in no real state to fight. They want the rights to mine energon on Earth, and they likely want their own sanctuary here on Cybertron."

"He wants to meet?" Ultra Magnus had experienced similar 'negotiations' during the war on Cybertron. Sometimes the Decepticons had been serious, other times they had feigned peaceful intentions and simply set ambushes. As a result, Ultra Magnus did not know what to think in regards to the Decepticon General in question. The fact that he referred to himself as 'General' struck him as a bit odd and it seemed likely the Decepticon warlord in question had simply given himself the title. If this was the case, then that indicated a level of vanity that only Starscream or Knock Out might have been able to attest to.

"That's what I came here to try and arrange." Ratchet did not sound at all keen on the idea. "The General wishes to meet for negotiations, though he wants to do so on Earth. 'Neutral ground'."

"We'd want to send some of our guys over," Wheeljack suggested. He looked towards Ultra Magnus, noticing the Autobot Commander's thoughtful expression. "You're really going to go along with this?"

"If he wants to negotiate, then it's likely best we do it on Earth." Ultra Magnus was not even sure of this decision himself. However, the presence of a Decepticon 'General' on Cybertron could incite some of the Decepticons to join him. The last thing he needed was any major Decepticon figure making a reappearance on the planet. He had enough problems to deal with already. "We'll keep his existence quiet and we can do that a whole lot easier if he stays off Cybertron."

"If you're really going to negotiate with this guy, I'm coming along," Wheeljack said. "If he starts trouble, you'll want someone backing you up."

"Indeed," Ultra Magnus said. He looked over to Bumblebee. "You too, Bumblebee."

"And what about me?" Knock Out asked. "I haven't been to Earth for some time. I sort of..." He trailed off, giving the matter some brief thought. "I sort of miss the place, to be honest."

"You were a Decepticon," Ultra Magnus said. "This 'General' is a Decepticon. Maybe you'll know him and if you do, you _may_ be able to help out. The operative word there being 'may'." It seemed like a stretch, but when it came to Decepticon operations Knock Out was their most reliable source of information. There were officers and warlords still on the loose out there and Knock Out was probably the only Decepticon they had who would be willing to give them information on any of them. Of course, there was also a good chance Knock Out knew nothing. Still, Ultra Magnus would not relinquish the opportunity to put him on some field work for once. Part of him, the younger and more reckless part of him at least, wanted to see the former Decepticon squirm.

"If Knock Out's going, I should remain here and take over his duties as doctor," Ratchet suggested. "Agent Fowler will have more details on the whole situation. He'll brief you when you get to Earth, sir." He regarded Ultra Magnus with a concerned look. "I'd be careful about this whole thing, Commander. The short notice and the nature of it just strike me as odd."

"You should always be prepared for the unlikely, doctor," Ultra Magnus commented. Indeed, the whole situation did seem odd but it was not the sort of thing he would leave waiting. If a Decepticon warlord wanted to negotiate peace, it was his duty as Commander of the Autobots and acting council leader to attempt negotiation. Ratchet walked up to Knock Out and the red Decepticon briefly outlined where he worked before the Autobot doctor continued out of the room.

"I take it you want me along, then?" Knock Out asked. Ultra Magnus nodded slowly. He had a feeling he would regret this decision. Knock Out, on the other hand, smiled and seemed content. His liking for Earth culture, despite his disdain for humans, was a paradox that even Ultra Magnus found difficult to decipher.

"Yes, Knock Out. You're coming with us." Ultra Magnus looked over to Wildstrike, who had been standing over at the terminal and listening closely. "Wildstrike, ready a bridge to Earth. I'd like to get to the bottom of this situation as soon as possible."

"Shouldn't we load up?" Wheeljack asked. "I got my blades, my cannons and a few grenades."

"If he wants to negotiate, Wheeljack, then we won't be needing our weapons," Ultra Magnus said.

"And you really believe that? A 'Con negotiating?"

"I can understand your doubts, but if this 'General' wishes to negotiate then that is exactly what we'll do." Ultra Magnus started for the entrance to the short tunnel that served as the projector for the ground-bridge. The green lights within flashed at regular intervals as power coursed through the pylons lining the tunnel.

"I say we go in and blow him and his goons away," Wheeljack suggested. He was not one for bluster. Ultra Magnus considered replacing him on the team with someone else for this mission, but he realised that if a negotiation were really to take place, then one of the best Autobots to bring along would be Wheeljack. A Decepticon wanting peace might be the sort of thing he needed to mellow out his attitudes a little.

"That's what the Decepticons would do," Ultra Magnus stated. "Do you really want to lower yourself to their level? If we can make peace with a major Decepticon figurehead, then we may be able to defuse some of the tensions here on Cybertron. It's what Optimus would want."

Wheeljack said nothing. The last sentence was one he seemed to be in silent agreement with. And despite his doubts, he would not give up an opportunity for a trip to Earth. Ultra Magnus knew of his friendships with a few of the humans they had worked with in the past. Any chance to see them was one the Wrecker would take gladly.

Bumblebee and Knock Out followed after the pair. From her terminal, Wildstrike began to key in the appropriate commands to start up the ground-bridge.  
"You be careful out there, sir," Wildstrike said. Her voice was laced with genuine concern. Ultra Magnus nodded in acknowledgement. Wheeljack smirked, something Ultra Magnus noticed and immediately found odd.

"What is it?" He asked the Wrecker.

"You don't notice it?" Wheeljack asked. His voice was low, ensuring that Wildstrike would not hear. "You've been working with her for this long and you still haven't picked up on it, huh chief?"

"Picked up on what?"

"The way she looks at you. Can't you see it?" He glanced behind them, towards Wildstrike who looked up from the terminal and set her gaze on the rear of the Autobot Commander. "She's even looking at you right now." Wheeljack turned his head back towards Ultra Magnus, keeping his voice low.

Ultra Magnus had a feeling about just what Wheeljack was referring to. It was not something the Wrecker had any business bringing up, certainly not now and certainly not at any other time. Wildstrike was a subordinate. She respected him, viewed him as a friend. _Trust Wheeljack to see what is not there._

"Wildstrike is an able soldier and friend," Ultra Magnus replied. Ahead of them, the ground-bridge opened, the shimmering green swirls of energy casting an almost neon glow across the four Cybertronians. "What you see from her in regards to me is respect. That's all."

The four Autobots started into the green haze, the room behind them slowly fading from view. Wheeljack maintained his smirk.

"I think you're missing out, chief," he said.

Ultra Magnus did not reply. His mind was more focused on the mission at hand. Small-talk, particularly talk about whatever relationship he had with any of his subordinates, was not something he wished to waste time on. Thankfully, Wheeljack did not press the matter further as they crossed the ground-bridge. Even so, some small part of the Autobot Commander's mind pondered what had been said and in turn it considered the possibilities. He quelled this part of his mind fairly quickly.


	6. Asset

**Asset**

The Special Reaction Taskforce had a centre of operations not far down the road from Hoover Dam. At this hour, with evening having since fallen, dark shadows had fallen across the rocky and barren desert. Above, the sky was only partly cloudy, the moon a large silvery disk. The compound from where the SRTF operated from was a fairly large and unassuming set of fenced-off structures, rundown at first appearance. Secrecy was the name of the game here, so making their base of operations appear to be nothing more than a truck depot had been a deliberate decision. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter, clad in black uniforms. A helicopter pad was hidden within one of the more squat, wider structures. The roof there would slide open to allow access.

Jack had spent the last six months working at this place at the request of Colonel Carver. It had been a fairly interesting diversion from the usual routine of Unit-E, back at Dreamland. The people here were mostly military, with very few government agents on the premises. The bureaucracy, as a result, did not have the same hold here as it did for Unit-E. If Colonel Carver wanted something done, he had it done with little delay. For Unit-E, if Fowler or Jack wanted something done, they had to fill out forms and call certain individuals depending on the task. To be free of the red-tape had been refreshing. Jack had never considered, when he had been a sixteen year old who had simply fallen in with the Autobots, that he would end up _bored_ with his work at Unit-E. The war between the Autobots and Decepticons had ended nine years ago. That was all well and good, but it had also made his life less interesting as a result.

He strolled through the front gate of the compound, flashing his identification at one of the guards who waved him on by. The air was cold, as was typically the case for a desert: hot as an oven during the day, as cold as a freezer when nightfall came. He brought his jacket around him as a cold breeze wafted through the compound, whistling audibly between the nearby buildings. He approached the largest of the squat metal and brick structures, coming to a metal door locked with a keypad. He punched in his code and pushed it open, finding some relief from the elements from the warmth inside. It was a fairly expansive room, built like a squat and lengthy hangar. A few black Hummers were parked nearby, typical Taskforce transports. Jack had been given an office towards the end of the structure, tucked away in the corner. It looked like a small box in the large room, complete with its own windows. Much like Unit-E, the Taskforce had given him 'consultant' work but they had, on occasion, given him the opportunity to tag along with one of their patrols. He had seen them take down three Decepticons during the past six months. It was this sort of work that reminded him of what it had been like when he had been sixteen, when the Autobots had been on Earth fighting the Decepticons. It was a life that had been dangerous, certainly, but had been far more fulfilling than sorting out paperwork. The Taskforce even had their own resident Autobot.

Deadeye tended to hang around here. Sure, he could go anywhere else within the compound and even go for a drive outside the base as long as he maintained secrecy, but mostly he amused himself on the compound through whatever means available. He was a fairly bulky Autobot, perhaps slightly taller than Bumblebee and mostly blue in colour with a silver trim. Seated, he was naturally only half as tall as usual, though Jack still had to tilt his neck back to look at the Autobot's face. His optics were a bright blue. There was a small crest on his head, comprised of a fin at either side in a manner reminiscent of Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus. He had fairly rugged features in general and even a few scorch marks and dents from battles fought in the past. His gaze was directed towards the small television set a few metres in front of him, placed upon a wooden table with a cable running from it, across the floor and to a power socket in the wall. Jack stopped by the television, able to hear numerous gunshots and shouts from the speakers.

"What are you watching?" Jack asked. The Autobot glanced towards him, smiling at him upon seeing the familiar face.

"It's a _Death Wish_ movie marathon." Deadeye seemed fairly engrossed in the movie that was playing. "I'd like to meet this 'Charles Bronson' guy someday."

"Yeah, that might be difficult." Jack found the Autobot's interest in human entertainment fairly amusing. Bumblebee had been similar, though not quite to the extent that Deadeye was. This was often how he spent his spare-time on the base, watching movies or playing video games. It seemed odd, how an Autobot could be living an easier life than he was. At least Deadeye did not need to fill out all manner of paperwork.

"Why's that?" Deadeye asked.

"He's dead."

"Huh. So he survives all this and dies of old age?" Deadeye frowned slightly. "That's a shame."

"It's not real, you know," Jack replied.

"That was just a joke, Jack." Deadeye stated this drily and eyed Jack with a disappointed frown. "I'm not stupid."

Jack sighed. There were still a few things about this Autobot he had trouble working out. In particular, it was hard to tell when he was actually joking.

"They'd never make this sort of thing on Cybertron," Deadeye continued. "Not that they ever did before the war. You humans, now you make some quality entertainment. I mean, you have seen these movies, right?"

"Not for a long time..."

"Like, one part has this gangster hold a ghetto blaster up to his face like this," Deadeye said, bringing both hands up in front of him with several inches between them, as if he were indeed holding the ghetto blaster in question. "He thinks it'll protect him from bullets, right? And then Charles Bronson just shoots him straight through it!" He chuckled then, lowering his hands as he did so. "It's hilarious!"

"Yeah...you have a strange sense of humour," Jack replied. Sometimes he wondered if the Taskforce had gone out of its way to employ the strangest Autobot they could find.

"You'd never see that sort of thing in any of the holo-vids back home," Deadeye added. "I doubt most of those old things even exist anymore. They probably all got blown up during the war." He did not sound too displeased with this possible state of affairs. Jack had never heard him speak much about the war, not that he had ever asked. It had seemed inconsiderate. It still did, despite Jack's curiosity as to how Deadeye had ended up working with the Taskforce. He had heard there was a good deal in it for him, likely involving energon. Of some of the paperwork that had crossed Jack's desk, he had seen mention of energon mining here on Earth. There were still plenty of deposits of the stuff scattered around the planet. It was not a stretch of the imagination to think that the Taskforce had sought to take advantage of them.

"Do you like it here, Deadeye?" Jack asked. "It's an honest question."

"Why? You think I don't?" Deadeye sounded surprised. "I wouldn't be here if I hated the work. Compared to those chumps back on Cybertron, I'm living the dream."

"So you have no intention of leaving?"

"Never. This," he began, using both hands to gesture around himself towards the room at large, "This is all I need. I got entertainment, I got people I can actually rely on, such as yourself for instance, and I get to go out and help you people hunt down Decepticons." A commercial break had started on the television, allowing Deadeye to move his gaze off of the screen fully as even he found the advertisements annoying. Some things, it seemed, were universal. "And, in return, the Colonel gives me a healthy share of whatever energon his boys have dug up. His guys have a nice refining system in place here."

"A system you helped set up," Jack added. Deadeye had been on Earth for about a year and had helped to set up a small but functioning energon refinery in one of the buildings at the back of the compound. It was primarily for selfish reasons, though Carver had been more than happy to play along.

"Yeah, it was the least I could do." Deadeye sounded genuine about all of this. "I like it here. I like the work."

"You don't want to go back to Cybertron?" Jack was curious to hear the Autobot out. "Don't you want to be among your own kind?"

"What for? So they can put me to work on rebuilding Cybertron? That isn't something I want to do. I put that place behind me a long time ago. I don't want to become a builder. I want to remain a soldier. A free spark, so-to-speak."

"You want it easy," Jack said. Wheeljack had been like that, at first. A self-styled loner at heart, only to change his tune when he finally admitted that he could not do everything by himself.

"I like the work here. You must as well," Deadeye said. "You accepted the Colonel's offer to work here. It probably beats whatever you were doing beforehand."

"I'm going to be leaving for good soon," Jack replied. He had given the matter plenty of thought over the last few weeks. As refreshing as it had been to work here, for the Taskforce, he had a responsibility with Fowler and Unit-E. He could not just desert that work, not when Fowler was due to retire in a week. Someone would have to take charge once he was gone and Jack had known for a few years now that he would be that 'someone'.

"Really?" Deadeye raised his brow-ridge. "For good? If that's the case, then I'll miss you, Jack." He smiled again. "Well, I'll probably get over it after a day or two. Just saying."

Once again, Jack was not too sure if Deadeye was making a joke or not. The way he was grinning now seemed to indicate that he was.

A set of footsteps became audible from nearby, booted feet pacing loudly upon the cement floor. Jack turned around, watching as a tall and well-built man approached the pair. He was in the black uniform of the Taskforce, the insignia at either shoulder displaying his rank as 'Captain'. He wore a red beret, his face clean-shaven and his hair black. He had a pair of light brown eyes, both of which displayed very little emotion as he approached. In a holster at his waist was a hand-gun, a sort outside the standard-issue that other Taskforce members were assigned. Whereas the standard sidearm was a SIG P228 chambered for the 9mm round, this particular Captain had opted to carry his own Colt M1911 utilising the more powerful .45 ACP round. The pistol had been customized with a black metallic finish and wood-grain grip. Captain Van Cleef served as Colonel Carver's second-in-command and was usually the man who lead the Taskforce while out on the field while Carver oversaw the operation from the base.

"Agent Darby," Van Cleef said, his voice carrying a distinct South African accent. He was, if what Jack had read was correct, formerly a part of a South African Special Forces unit. Apparently Carver hired his guys from more than just the United States military. "The Colonel asked me to find you." He looked over to Deadeye, his expression taking on a more disdainful look. "As for you, Deadeye, haven't you got anything more important to do than to watch television?"

Jack, through his fairly limited interactions with the Captain, had learned some time ago that the man was very by-the-book. He yelled at his subordinates frequently, chewing them out for even the slightest misstep. Jack had thankfully been exempted from this, as he was not technically part of the Taskforce and had a civilian role, so he was not quite under the Captain's jurisdiction.

"Could you be quiet? The commercial break's ended." Deadeye waved a four-digit hand dismissively in the Captain's direction.

"You work here, don't you?" Van Cleef asked. He approached Deadeye, getting right up close despite how much bigger the Autobot was. "Then you should haul your weight around a bit more, _china_."

"You're not my boss," Deadeye replied. His attention was fixed on the television screen. "The Colonel is. If he tells me to 'haul my weight' then I'll do it. You, on the other hand, annoy me. I'd probably have blasted you away months ago if I wouldn't get in trouble for doing it." Finally, he looked down at the Captain and smiled in a blatantly condescending manner. "I work here because I want to, not because you tell me to. I could get up and leave any time I want."

"What did the Colonel want from me?" Jack interrupted. "Is he in the compound?"

"He's still at Unit-E headquarters," Van Cleef answered, turning to face him. There was some visible annoyance in his expression.

"I don't have to go back there now, do I?" Jack would not be surprised if he had to take the lengthy drive back. That sort of to-and-fro came with the line of work. Still, that did not make it any less inconvenient and annoying. "I have a report here that needs finishing."

"It's up to you, Agent Darby," Van Cleef said. "He thought it would be worth notifying you that a group of Autobots just arrived."

Deadeye looked towards the Captain then, visibly curious.

"Oh yeah? Who?" He asked.

"Ultimate...Ultron...Ul..." Van Cleef paused for a moment, having given up on trying to recall the name. "The boss one. Whatever his name is."

"Ultra Magnus?" Jack suggested.

"Yeah. Him. He's over at Unit-E HQ with both your bosses." Van Cleef was of course referring to Fowler and Colonel Carver. Jack could only wonder how those two were getting along. He doubted Fowler would appreciate finding out that a group like the Taskforce had been working behind the scenes on the sort of thing Unit-E had been created to do. However, times changed and so did the people who were even higher-up than he was. Unit-E was used to deal with the Cybertronians diplomatically, whereas the Taskforce was the latest answer to any alien aggression directed towards Earth. Jack could understand, with the distinct lack of Autobots on Earth, that the defence of the planet was very much in the hands of the human race. Yet, despite the work he had done for both Unit-E and the Taskforce, he found himself reminiscing with increasing regularity how it had been years before, when the Autobots had been on Earth and more than able to respond to any threats. To him, the Taskforce was necessary. They could not rely on the Autobots. Humanity would need to learn how to deal with potential alien threats on its own. Of course, he realised that maybe Carver's regular talks had influenced his thoughts just a little bit too much.

_Times sure do change,_ he thought absently.

"Hard-ass Magnus?" Deadeye asked, recognizing the name. "The chief? I can't stand that guy. He's about as much fun as the Cybonic plague."

"You know him?" Jack asked.

"Hardly. I sort of made it a point to _avoid_ him."

"It doesn't matter what you think of him," Van Cleef interrupted. "He's arrived at Unit-E headquarters, along with a few friends of his."

"Count me out of this," Deadeye said. He shifted his gaze back towards the television. "I'd rather watch Charles Bronson slaughter street thugs. Hanging out with Ultra Magnus is hardly as 'fun'."

Jack found Deadeye's attitude amusing and somewhat understandable. If what the Autobot had told him in the past, he was more of a 'loner' and had spent much of his time after leaving Cybetron wandering the galaxy. One thing that Jack recalled from what he had been told, was that Deadeye's ship had been totalled when he had crash-landed on Earth. Given his arrangement with the Taskforce, he did not seem bothered by the fact that he was stuck here, even if there was a ground-bridge to Cybertron available at Unit-E headquarters.

"You're free to go, Agent Darby," Van Cleef said.

"I have a report..." Jack began, but the Captain interrupted him.

"The Colonel said not to worry about it. Go and meet your old metal friends. I think Carver would prefer it if you were there for the negotiation, anyway."

"If that's the case, I guess I'll go." Jack looked over at Deadeye, noticing that his optics were fixed on the television screen. "Should I tell Magnus you're here? I'm sure he'd love to meet you." Jack grinned slightly when he saw Deadeye's face adopt an almost disgusted expression.

"Hell no," Deadeye snapped. He glanced over at Jack, his jaw clenched. "Don't you dare. He'll probably come over here and try and talk me into joining him. Either that, or he'll _order_ me to go to Cybertron." He paused for a moment, holding up one metal finger. "Now, Jack, don't disturb me again. I'm reaching the end of _Death Wish 3_. That's the best part of the movie."

"All right, Deadeye, your presence here is a secret safe with me," Jack replied. He turned towards Van Cleef, who regarded him with his usually stern expression.

"You go have fun, Agent Darby," he said. The sarcasm in his voice with clear.

"I take it you're not into diplomatic talks?"

"Talking can only get someone so far," Van Cleef replied. "If it were up to me, I'd blow that Decepticon General away. But he wants to talk, and the Colonel agreed to it. I'll follow my orders, even if I don't like them." After a brief but awkward silence, he turned around and started to walk away, presumably to tend to whatever other business he had here at the compound. Jack did much the same, bidding farewell to Deadeye. The Autobot did not even look up from the television.

"Enjoy yourself," Deadeye said, though he did not mean it.

Jack strode out of the building shortly afterwards, emerging back out into the cold night air. He found his way to his car, a fairly ordinary black sedan, agency issue (one of the many perks of working the sort of job he did). The agency had even been kind enough to help pay for his house, an ordinary single-storey affair located on the outskirts of Jasper. It was not often he was there, as his work was the sort where he would spend a great deal of his time at either the Unit-E headquarters or more recently, the Taskforce compound.

The cell-phone in his jacket pocket began to vibrate. He pulled it out, immediately seeing the name of the caller flashing upon the touch-screen display. There were other duties he had, outside of work, among them a certain female friend of his who he had not seen for a while. He would likely get a mouthful because of that. Tapping the 'accept call' button, he put the phone to his ear whilst his free-hand removed his car keys from a pocket in his trousers.

"Hey..." The voice on the other end was quick to interrupt him. He let her go through the usual tirade, all the while his self-respect began to diminish. Finally, he found an opportunity to respond. "Look, I can't help it. You should know that." He opened the door to his car and climbed inside, keeping the phone to his ear as he settled into the seat. He would be the first to admit he was neglecting his family duties, but that sort of thing came with this line of work. "Tomorrow? I can't. Something big has come up." With his other hand, he stuck the appropriate key into the ignition and turned it. The engine thrummed into life. All the while, a very agitated female voice barked into one ear.

"I'll try and make it there by the end of the week," Jack said. "A promise? Yeah, sure, I'll make that a promise. I have to go, you know what they say about talking on a phone while driving...I love you, all right?...What, no, don't be like that. _Damn it_." As much as he regretted it, he hung up, silencing the voice but not the self-doubt it had stirred within his mind. There was a fine line to be walked, when it came to work and family. Sometimes he knew that he had crossed it too far into the former. Other times, he needed his other half to remind him of what was most important. That was usually achieved by a call much like the one he had just brought an end to.

He slipped his cell-phone back into his jacket and focused his attention on driving. It was a lengthy drive back to Unit-E headquarters. He hoped that the trip would be worth it. And he hoped that when he called her tomorrow, Miko would not chew him out again. Of course, that last one was unlikely.


	7. Earth Vacation

**Earth Vacation**

It had been some time since Ultra Magnus had last been on Earth. Unlike some of the other Autobots, he did not come by for the occasional visit. His connection to the people of this world was not quite as strong when compared to someone like Bumblebee, who had formed close bonds with the few humans who had helped them during their time here in the past. Even so, Ultra Magnus found the change of scenery welcoming. The grey, metallic vistas of Cybertron had their own kind of unique beauty but the sweeping deserts in this region of Earth never failed to inspire him. The ground was softer under his feet, the air smelled fresher, more natural, with only some traces of fossil fuels amongst it. Even inside the Unit-E hangar his senses were accosted by all manner of smells, ranging from dirt to dust and aviation fuel. Cybertron may have been his home, but in terms of sheer diversity Earth had it beat.

Agent Fowler was how he had last seen him, with greying hair and a wearier look to his face. His usually stern but zealous demeanour had only faded slightly with his ever-advancing age. That was one thing Ultra Magnus found unfortunate in regards to humans. Their life-spans were short, fleeting things that must have been one impetus for the determination many of them had to make something of themselves. Humanity had spread all over this planet, settling its people into some of the least hospitable regions despite the risks. Ultra Magnus could admire such tenacity.

Nearby, Agent Fowler stood on a walkway running along one side within the hangar, the door to his office a short distance from him. He was in his usual grey suit with white shirt and tie. Ultra Magnus could only assume that the human had several sets of the same outfit, or maybe even just the one he washed frequently. He was leaning against a railing, looking towards Ultra Magnus and the other arrivals with a friendly smile, although the look in his eyes indicated that there were significant doubts on his mind that belied whatever warmth he displayed.

Wheeljack and Bumblebee stood nearby. Wheeljack had come through the ground-bridge expecting to see at least one familiar human other than Fowler, only to come away disappointed. None of his old friends were here. Chances are they had gone their own ways during the intervening years, even more so in regards to humans as their life-spans were short. They matured quickly compared to Cybertronians and went out into the world to find their purpose in life far sooner than any Cybertronian fledgling would. Bumblebee stood to Wheeljack's right, surveying the room with his large blue optics. The hangar had changed very little since Ultra Magnus' last visit a few years before. It still had the same warm, yellowish glow over everything, supplied by the many lights fixed into the ceiling above. Through the windows that lined the upper sections of the walls, it was dark. Night had fallen across Nevada, yet the lights here made it almost as bright as day within the hangar.

Knock Out was pacing around, looking over every inch of the place. He was one Cybertronian who had made very few return visits to Earth since his departure. Ultra Magnus watched the former Decepticon doctor stop by one of the larger Cybertronian computer monitors situated nearby. He switched it on and began to tap away at the panel, presumably in an attempt to amuse himself for a while.

"I'm glad you're here, Magnus," Fowler said.

"Judging from what Ratchet told us of the situation, it was imperative we come," Ultra Magnus said.

"I didn't believe it myself." Fowler's doubt was clear in his voice. This 'negotiation' with the Decepticon 'General' was something they were all having trouble accepting. Ultra Magnus preferred to remain at least optimistic, as a successful negotiation with a warlord would certainly help ease tensions back on Cybertron and, he figured, improve relations with the natives of Earth. The Autobots had only kept a small presence on the planet since Cybertron's restoration, with Ratchet serving as their 'Bot on the ground here. Since the Decepticons had done very little in the nine Earth years since the restoration, Autobot contact with Earth had become sporadic at best.

"I don't think I believe it," Wheeljack said from where he was standing nearby. "The 'Cons don't negotiate unless there's something in it for 'em. That, or they want to set up an ambush."

"I'm just as sceptical as you are, Wheeljack," Fowler said. "But even the President wants us to see this through. And from what I've been told, this Decepticon 'General' and his goons aren't in much of a state to fight. They're low on supplies, energon especially."

"And they want mining rights for the deposits on Earth, I take it?" Ultra Magnus had not considered mining the energon deposits on this world. Cybertron, since its restoration, had had plenty of energon to go around. It was the refining of it that needed work, hence the rationing in Iacon.

"Most likely."

"What about the guys you told me about?" Bumblebee stepped forwards, looking towards Fowler with a curious gaze. "This 'Taskforce'?"

"Like I told Ratchet, they're the ones who were contacted by this 'General'," Fowler replied. "They hunted and killed one of his scouts. I guess he figured it was best to make nice with us humans after they did that to one of his goons."

"They killed one of his scouts?" Wheeljack raised a brow, surprised. "No offence, Bill, but you humans always had trouble even taking down Vehicons, let alone an actual Decepticon scout. What does this 'Taskforce' have that you don't?"

Fowler shrugged. Ultra Magnus was certainly curious to find out more about this 'Taskforce'. If they were able to take down Decepticons without Autobot assistance, then they could very well be a threat to the Autobots. From what he had been told of the human organization 'MECH', they had had similar capabilities through utilising reverse-engineered technology. However, unlike MECH, it seemed that this 'Taskforce' was somewhat more official.

"We have the determination, for starters," an unfamiliar voice called from further along the walkway. Ultra Magnus looked towards the source, his gaze meeting with that of a tall man in a black military uniform. His understanding of Earth's militaries was adequate enough that he noticed the lack of any real noticeable marks on the man's uniform jacket. He did wear a peaked cap, one that bore a small silver emblem of a pair of snakes coiled around a sword. He stopped a few metres from where Fowler stood, regarding the Autobots with a fairly straight expression. There was some curiosity in his eyes, as he had never seen these Autobots before. Ultra Magnus realised that they were probably the first ones that this human had seen in person.

Wheeljack watched him carefully, as did Bumblebee. Knock Out walked over from where he had been fiddling with one of the computers, his red optics eyeing the new arrival with a scrutinising look. Curiosity was noticeable among both parties, but the human did a far better job of making it subtle.

"This is Colonel Jerome Carver," Fowler said. He gestured with one hand towards the human in question. He did not sound especially keen in regards to the Colonel. The distrust, subdued as it were, was something that Ultra Magnus noticed immediately. He may not have been around humans a great deal, but he knew their cues, both through body language and their voices. "He's the man in charge of the Special Reaction Taskforce."

Wheeljack walked up to the ledge, his brow narrowed. Despite the Autobot's size and the two katana-like blades he wore at his back, Carver stood his ground and returned Wheeljack's look in turn.

"You took down a Decepticon scout?" Wheeljack asked.

"We took down thirteen other Decepticons in a thirty-month period." Carver stated this matter-of-factly, as if it were common knowledge. There was no pride in his voice and his face had become a nigh-unreadable mask. To the Colonel, actions spoke louder than words. There was no need to boast about his group's achievements.

"You underhanded Unit-E through doing so," Fowler said, turning to face the Colonel.

"Underhanded?" Carver shook his head. "That's doubtful. Unit-E has become a diplomatic connection to Cybertron. The Special Reaction Taskforce serves as a line of defence between Earth and alien aggressors, whether they be from Cybertron or elsewhere. It was our work that prompted the Decepticon General to contact us and request negotiation." He paused and Ultra Magnus saw Fowler's face scrunch up slightly, as if the man's sheer presence here was enough to make the Agent's anger flare. Ultra Magnus supposed such hostility was to be expected from Fowler when faced with the man who had been under-handing his efforts.

"I would have preferred to leave you out of this, Agent Fowler," Carver continued. "But the Autobots, Ultra Magnus in particular, are required for this negotiation." He looked towards the Autobot Commander, his mouth forming a friendly if subdued smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Commander. We can't forget the pleasantries, can we?"

"No, we can't," Ultra Magnus replied. He was not sure how to regard this human, whether to be impressed by his group's credentials or not. Fourteen dead Decepticons was no small feat and Colonel Carver did not seem like the type of person to lie. In fact, Ultra Magnus was reminded of himself in some way as he watched the Colonel. "My escort, Wheeljack and Bumblebee..." He would have continued the introduction, but the Colonel cut him short.

"I've read the files on each of your group, Commander," Carver said. "Wheeljack, the Wrecker and former scientist. Bumblebee, the scout-turned-warrior and finally Knock Out, the defector." He had likely memorised the important details from each of the files in question. He recited the basic facts without pause. "All very good at what they do, from what I've learned."

"I'm glad you feel that way." Knock Out was the one to say this, a smirk forming at his mouth.

"Except for you," Carver stated. "Turncoats are the lowest of the low. You'll have to do a lot more than keep your finish buffed to a sheen to impress me, Decepticon."

Knock Out's smirk faded. He looked almost hurt. Ultra Magnus did find this somewhat amusing, not that he showed it. Wheeljack, on the other hand, chuckled loudly.

"And what about this Decepticon who wishes to negotiate?" Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics. The Colonel nodded in acknowledgement of the question. Despite the unusual situation, he seemed completely content, as if this sort of thing was nothing new to him. Ultra Magnus, on the other hand, found it odd but understandable. Some of the Decepticon warlords who were still at large would likely be getting desperate, especially without the organization that Megatron's leadership would have provided.

"You really buy it?" Wheeljack asked. "Because I don't."

"Of course, in regards to the Decepticon warlord, or 'General' as he prefers to be called, we have to tread carefully." Carver's tone was level, with only a slight hint of concern. "However, judging from my interactions with the General so far, he does seem genuine. He would have little reason to betray us. We have the means to fight him effectively, even more so now that the four of you are here. By attacking us, he would also incur the wrath of the Autobots on Cybertron. After all, the Treaty we have with your race states as much."

"Yet you killed fourteen Decepticons without our help," Ultra Magnus said. "You didn't even tell us they were here."

"We didn't need to," Carver replied. He was quick to answer, likely having anticipated such questions. To Ultra Magnus, the Colonel seemed almost too sure of himself. He was a military leader, in charge of this 'Taskforce', so it was likely he simply carried himself the way he did as part of his job. He had to look strong to his subordinates. Ultra Magnus could certainly relate. It appeared this particular human did almost too good a job of it.

"We've made some progress technologically when it comes to fighting alien intruders," the Colonel continued. "We can't rely on you Autobots to fight our battles for us. That's why the Taskforce was created."

"And no one bothered to tell me about it," Fowler said, abjectly. He looked over to the Colonel, his tone sour. "It's like you forgot what was written in the Treaty."

"The Treaty is hardly my concern, Agent Fowler," Carver replied. "We shouldn't need to call in the Autobots whenever there's a Decepticon incursion. Humanity can't be so dependent."

"How do you fight them, then, Colonel?" The question was one Fowler delivered fairly incisively. Ultra Magnus and the other Autobots could sense the hostility between the two, even if most of it came from Fowler. Carver, on the other hand, did not appear very concerned. "What weapons have you and your boys cooked up to battle the Decepticon menace?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say," Carver said.

Fowler rolled his eyes. He let out a dejected sigh and looked back to Ultra Magnus.

"This is the sort of nonsense I have to deal with," he said. "Red-tape, secrecy, being left out of the loop. I remember when you and the other 'Bots were here, staying on Earth. It was so much simpler then. Now I've got to deal with Agent Smith over here." He nodded in the direction of the Colonel.

"Who?" Ultra Magnus was not too familiar with human popular culture. Such references were often lost on him.

"Never mind."

There was a brief silence amongst the group. It was an awkward one at that, especially where Fowler and Carver were concerned. Agent Fowler's distrust of Carver was readily apparent. It even rubbed off on Ultra Magnus, to a degree. Still, he could relate at least a little towards Carver. The man was a leader who aimed only to protect his species. He had made a valid point, how humanity could not be so dependent upon the Autobots. The secrecy was also fairly understandable. Ultra Magnus had fought in many secret missions, particularly when he had been placed in charge of the Wreckers. Keeping secrets from other branches of the military was standard practice, especially during a war. Fowler's contempt for the Colonel in response to this was not a surprise.

"I've contacted the Decepticon General," Carver said. "I told him about your arrival. He should be here within the hour."

"That's kind of short notice," Bumblebee said.

"I suppose he'll have an escort?" Wheeljack asked. He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the Colonel with some disdain.

"Well, since Ultra Magnus has an escort, it's only reasonable that the General has one as well." Carver checked the silver watch he wore at his left wrist, partially concealed under the glove there. "You four may wish to get ready in whatever way it is you Autobots prepare for a negotiation. From what I've been told, the General may ask for safe passage to Cybertron. Maybe even a chunk of land to settle his soldiers down."

"We have standards," Wheeljack countered. "We don't just let any old 'Con settle on Cybertron."

"Of course, I understand. Working out that sort of thing is what negotiations are for, am I right?" Carver looked up from his watch. Ultra Magnus noted the pistol he had in a holster at his waist. It was large and silver, catching the light of the hangar with a significant glint. Even from this fleeting glance, Ultra Magnus could see that it looked to be almost impractically large for a side-arm.

"Does this Decepticon 'General' have a name?" Ultra Magnus asked. Despite all that they had been told, they still had no idea as to the genuine identity of the Decepticon in question. The Autobot Commander had figured that it was likely a trumped-up Lieutenant who had found himself in a position of leadership after Megatron's disappearance. There were not many of the old guard sorts left, with Starscream dead and Shockwave missing. Any other well-known Decepticons were either dead or elsewhere in the galaxy. _Who could this 'General' possibly be?_

"He didn't tell me," Carver said.

"He can't be keeping secrets from us if we're going to meet him." Bumblebee was the one to say this. He made a good point, even if it was too late to demand the 'General' reveal his true identity. "I'd like to know who I'm going to be meeting with."

"You may recognize him," Carver suggested. "I've only met him in person once. Our other communications were either through his Lieutenants, or over the phone."

"How quaint," Wheeljack quipped. "Are you two best buddies or something?"

"Far from it. This situation is as strange to me as it is to you. That's why you were brought in."

Ultra Magnus was certainly curious to meet the Decepticon 'General'. He was not sure on what to expect, nor would he trust anything the Decepticon said. The war was still being fought in some regards, especially where these rogue warlords were concerned.

* * *

Wheeljack had considered getting in touch with Jack and Miko. He had not seen them for some time, as his trips to Earth had been sporadic at best. However, he figured he would not get much of a chance to do that, given the fact that the Decepticon 'General' was apparently on his way here. Wheeljack had no desire to be caught up in the negotiations, but Ultra Magnus had dragged him here and had even had the gall to suggest that it might have a positive effect on him. _As if playing nice with a 'Con will make me feel any differently about them,_ he thought.

Fowler had gone back to his office while Carver had wandered off, heading outside. Wheeljack assumed he had gone to wait for the Decepticon 'General' to arrive. The Wrecker had no real liking for that human, he might have carried himself with confidence (perhaps _too much_ confidence) but there was something almost slimy about him. The fact that his 'Taskforce' had been operating in secret for three Earth years and had only brought in Unit-E now, when faced with this unusual situation, said much about their true nature. This was an inconvenience for the Colonel, Wheeljack figured.

He made his way over to where Knock Out was. The former Decepticon had been fiddling with one of the Cybertronian computer terminals, although as Wheeljack neared him he saw that Knock Out had been merely browsing the worldwide web. The doctor turned around as he heard Wheeljack approach.

"What are you looking at, Knock Out?" Wheeljack asked.

"I was simply searching for a newer vehicle mode," Knock Out replied. "My current vehicle mode is almost obsolete in Earth terms."

"Is that why you decided to come along? So you could play dress-up?" Wheeljack frowned. The Decepticon doctor's slick exterior did not fool him. Underneath this veneer was nothing more than a coward and a 'turncoat', as the Colonel had put it. That was a new coin of phrase that Wheeljack found to be very apt.

"I came along because Ultra Magnus requested it," Knock Out replied. "I might be able to shed some light on who this 'General' is."

"Oh yeah?" Wheeljack found this unlikely. "Who is he, then?"

"Well..." Knock Out paused for a moment, giving the matter some thought. "I haven't really got much to go on, do I? At least ask that question _after_ he's arrived?"

"You have no idea, then?"

"I'd say he's someone vain, since he's calling himself a 'General'. It's very unlikely that's his real title."

"Vain?" The Wrecker smirked. "You and he have something in common already."

Knock Out frowned, his enthusiasm gone.

"I wouldn't say I'm 'vain', that's too strong a word," he said, after a brief pause. "Unlike you, I actually take some pride in my appearance. I wouldn't expect a Wrecker to understand what it takes to look good."

"Maybe because I've got other priorities."

"Like what?"

"Like resisting the urge to flay that shiny finish off of you," Wheeljack replied, straight-faced. He may not have been completely serious with this statement, but the way Knock Out's optics widened made it worth it. "Piece by piece. Wouldn't be the first time I've cut up a 'Con."

"I would never have expected a scientist to be so violent," Knock Out said.

"I stopped being a scientist a long time ago." At least, that had been up until recently. Now Ultra Magnus expected him to resume his work in science to help rebuild Cybertron. It was a jarring change from the life of a soldier he had come to enjoy. "I don't think I can go back to being one. Not easily."

"And would you really cut me up, Wheeljack?" Knock Out eyed him with an inquisitive expression. "I don't think the Commander would appreciate you dismembering one of the few experienced doctors on Cybertron."

Wheeljack may not have been entirely serious with his threats against the former Decepticon. Still, all it would take would be one sign of betrayal from Knock Out and Wheeljack would not hesitate to end him. In the meantime, making him feel uncomfortable made for an amusing diversion.

"If you'll excuse me, Wheeljack, I have some catching up to do in regards to certain Earth movie genres," Knock Out said. He turned around, bringing his attention back to the computer terminal. "I've missed a great deal during my absence."

Wheeljack found his gaze going towards the door at the far end of the hangar. A familiar figure had walked in, a human, one whom he recognized immediately. Sure, the human in question had grown a bit and had gained a fair amount of muscle mass, but Jack Darby was someone whom Wheeljack was actually glad to see. He was wearing a dark business suit with white shirt and tie, an outfit that was apparently standard for the sort of work Jack had found himself in during the last few years. It was not the sort of thing Wheeljack was used to seeing him in.

"Jack," Wheeljack said. Seeing a familiar face, other than Fowler, was a welcome change.

"Jackie," Jack said, stopping a few metres ahead of him. He glanced over at Knock Out, a funny look crossing his face. He turned back to Wheeljack and gestured in the doctors direction. "Why'd you bring him along?"

"I didn't. The chief did." He nodded towards Ultra Magnus. He stood some distance away and was speaking to Agent Fowler, who had just re-emerged from his office.

Bumblebee approached from nearby and greeted Jack with a smile.

"Hey," he said.

"It's been a while, Bee," Jack replied. "I heard you were here a few days ago, but I couldn't make it here to meet you. I got caught up in work."

"Moving up through the world, eh kid?" Wheeljack smirked and Jack raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"I don't think I'm quite a 'kid' anymore," Jack said.

"Tell me that when you hit my age."

"And what would that be?"

Wheeljack shrugged.

"I have no idea," he answered. "Aside from that, it's good to see you again. I mean, I always envisioned you as becoming a..." He trailed off. "What exactly is it you do here, kid?"

"Same sort of thing Fowler does," Jack explained. "I help him oversee Unit-E's operations. Usually, anyway. Past six months, I've been working with Colonel Carver's Taskforce."

Wheeljack was surprised to hear this.

"You've been working for _him_?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I only just met him and already I think he's an ass. He reminds me too much of Magnus. All that stern, authoritarian B-S. At least Fowler's got a personality. Heck, even Magnus has more of a personality than Colonel what's-his-face."

"Don't let him hear you say that," Jack said.

"Why? Is he gonna beat me up?" Wheeljack scoffed loudly, perhaps more so than he had intended.

"He doesn't beat people. I've rarely heard him yell at anyone. He's very good at keeping his cool." Jack said this very matter-of-factly. There may have even been a hint of respect in his voice.

"What about Miko? How's she?" Wheeljack asked him. He had not seen the girl for even longer than he had not seen Jack. Sometimes, while he worked in his workshop on Cybertron, his mind wondered to thoughts of Earth and the fleshy friends he had made there. Sometimes he thought about Miko, the 'honorary Wrecker'. And sometimes he pondered returning to Earth and staying there with Ratchet, as Cybertron was becoming even less like he had thought it would. The constant work, much of which restricted him to his workshop, had left him feeling drained some days and downright depressed on others. Not that he would tell anyone that, certainly not explicitly.

"She's as you would expect," Jack answered. "Feisty as ever."

"Good to hear. I might go by and see her, once this business with this 'General' is done." He made his disdain for the current, if unusual, situation clear in his voice. Negotiating had never been something he had found himself very interested in, especially if it involved Decepticons. "You know anything about our 'guest'? This 'Con warlord?"

"No. I've never seen him. The Colonel did not even tell me about it until recently."

"The whole thing stinks," Wheeljack added. "'Cons don't negotiate. Not unless there's something big in it for them."

"I was told they're short on supplies," Jack said. "That might explain why they haven't gone elsewhere. They know they can get to Cybertron from Earth and they probably haven't got the resources to fly there the old-fashioned way."

"I'm sure we'll find out what their problems are when they arrive," Bumblebee advised. "We shouldn't go jumping to conclusions. That goes for you, Wheeljack." He eyed the Wrecker carefully. "You really think they'd betray us? When we could easily bring in far greater numbers through the ground-bridge?"

Wheeljack was not sure what to think. He did not like being so conflicted, especially since he had been so certain that Decepticons were never to be trusted. No Decepticon warlord would 'negotiate' unless they were certain they could get what they wanted and it was likely to be something fairly significant that they were after. Some had surrendered in the past, only to be accepted onto Cybertron and Wheeljack had always been vocal in his opposition to that practice. 'Cons brought trouble and that was one thing Cybertron, and Earth for that matter, had had plenty of. Still, if Knock Out could genuinely switch sides it was not a stretch to think that other Decepticons could do the same.

"The whole thing's just off," Wheeljack said, finally.

"You should ease up, once in a while," Bumblebee suggested. "You've been on edge a lot recently."

"I've got a lot on my plate. This business with this 'General' is just something more I have to deal with. Forgive me if I don't believe he's going to come here to 'negotiate'." He paused, eyeing Bumblebee carefully. "Did you bring your weapons? I have my blades and my on-board cannons. I prefer to be prepared."

"How about we just wait and see, before we start preparing for the worst?" Jack asked. Wheeljack looked towards him, thinking that maybe he was being a bit too paranoid, but Bumblebee had been right about him being a bit on edge in recent months. All the work he was assigned had taken up every minute of his time. By the end of a typical day on Cybertron, he had been doing nothing but work. At least the war had not been so routine, so _dull_. And, to top it off, he had got to thinking about his potential future on Cybertron. 'Settling down', as Knock Out had called it during their talk earlier that day, was something that he had not considered much before. Now, it was an idea that had been nagging away at the back of his mind like a parasite. He had never thought he would reach this point, actively thinking about a _peaceful_ future for himself. He had always assumed he would go down in a blaze of glory.

"If you expect me to sit down and have a nice, friendly chat with this 'Con warlord, you're mistaken," Wheeljack stated.


	8. The General

**The General**

Ultra Magnus watched as the Colonel pulled a lever by the hangar entrance. The large double doors that took up the front end of the hangar began to slide open slowly, groaning loudly on their gears. Outside, it was late in the evening, the sky above dark and cloudy in places. A runway was beyond the hangar doors, one of a few that ran the length of the air force base. A pair of guards milled by on patrol outside. Another set of hangars were located across the runway, a few of which were closed. Further down the runway was a set of administration buildings, squat and mostly rectangular compared to the hangars, an American flag flying high above them. Finally, there was a control tower, located by the administration area. It was the tallest point on the base, covered in blinking lights that denoted its position to any aircraft that were coming in for landing. The runway itself was lined with similar white lights that glowed brightly in the dim evening light. A few more guards moved into the hangar, taking positions along the walls.

It had been about two hours since Ultra Magnus and the others had arrived here. That made the Decepticon 'General' an hour late. The Autobot Commander did not find himself surprised by this turn of events.

Jack and Agent Fowler waited nearby. Fowler looked understandably bored. He was leaning back against a wall with his arms crossed, his expression dour. Knock Out had taken to amusing himself on the nearby Cybertronian terminal while Wheeljack, apparently unconcerned with the sensitive nature of the situation, had pulled out one of his blades and now sat nearby wiping it clean with a cloth.

"Looks like this guy's a no-show," he said. He held out the katana-shaped blade in front of his face, eyeing it carefully as he searched for any imperfections. "Can't say I'm surprised."

"He'll be here," Colonel Carver said as he made his way back from the door controls. "I don't think it's much of a _surprise_ to anyone here that a Decepticon, of all things, is intentionally making us wait."

Wheeljack barely managed a glance at the human, his disdain for him apparent. He slid his katana into place at his back and stood up from the bench he had been seated upon. He looked over to Ultra Magnus and gestured in the direction of the ground-bridge terminal.

"How about we head back, chief?" He asked.

"We'll wait, Wheeljack," Ultra Magnus answered, his tone stern.

"Can _I_ at least go? It's not like you'll need me. The last thing you'd want me involved with is a 'negotiation'." He said this last word with blatant scorn. "This waiting game is killing me, chief. I got enough to do back on Cybertron. Wasting time here is just going to make those things take even longer." He paused and raised one brow-ridge. "Half those things are tasks _you_ assigned _me_."

Ultra Magnus hated the waiting as much as Wheeljack did, though he was certainly not one to show it. Sometimes the life of a soldier was a boring one, waiting around was sometimes part of the job. Not that he would expect Wheeljack to tolerate that particular aspect of their work.

Ultra Magnus did not get an opportunity to respond, as he and the others became aware of a distant whining noise, one that increased in volume quickly as its source neared their location at a considerable pace. The whining was soon backgrounded with a far louder and deeper roar. The ground underfoot began to vibrate and the light fixtures in the ceiling of the hangar behind them rattled audibly within their housings. A shadow was cast over the windows of the hangar and an alert siren sounded across the base. Ultra Magnus started for the hangar's entrance, stepping outside while being followed by the other Autobots. Several human soldiers were out and on alert now, their gazes directed skyward. Ultra Magnus did much the same, looking up to see the recognizable form of a Decepticon scout-ship descending over the runway. It was a large and visibly modified ship, with a set of two bulky engines on the rear and four smaller ones near them, each one glowing brightly with blue energy. It was vaguely disc-shaped, but bulky and asymmetrical from the modifications that had been made. The bridge was visible as a dome protruding from the top centre of the craft as it descended, about six large landing pads extending from the underbelly of the ship to support its touchdown. For a scout-craft it was far larger than the typical model, likely a result of the added sections and weapons turrets that had been built into it. It was a hulking black metal shape, visibly armed and the diameter of the width of the runway it landed upon. Several of the human soldiers nearby raised their weapons, training them on the alien craft. A trio of open-top Jeeps came to a halt nearby, each of their mounted guns being trained onto the ship.

"This General's not big on subtlety, is he?" Bumblebee said from where he stood, just off to Ultra Magnus' right.

"You think this is all he has?" Wheeljack asked, his voice low. He stood to Ultra Magnus' other side and watched the scout-craft land with a careful gaze. "Or is this just his personal yacht?"

"What makes you think I know?" Ultra Magnus countered. He had not been expecting the Decepticon 'General' to arrive quite in this manner. Then again, he had not known what to expect. Nearby, he saw that Colonel Carver watched with as much concern as Wheeljack. That is to say, very little. He had probably seen this ship before, during whatever past interactions he had shared with the Decepticon 'General' and his soldiers.

The landing ramp on the underside of the oversized scout-ship began to lower, hitting the tarmac of the runway with a subdued _clunk!_ White smoke plumed from the hydraulics in the landing gears, wafting around the walkway. Ultra Magnus found his attention drawn to the middle of the smoke, where he could hear footsteps. They clanked loudly upon the metal of the ramp and as the smoke cleared, Ultra Magnus could make out the figure from which the steps originated. He was tall, perhaps as tall as Ultra Magnus. His Cybertronian form was recognizable right away, even through all the smoke. The mostly black and purple finish certainly alluded to his status as a Decepticon and the large wings folded at his back indicated that he was a jet-former of some kind.

Then Ultra Magnus saw the Decepticon completely as he emerged from the hissing smoke. It took him a moment to remember where he had seen that face before, where he had seen those blazing red optics that were now looking at him in a fairly scrutinising manner.

"Cyclonus," Ultra Magnus muttered.

"Who?" Wheeljack glanced at him, one brow-ridge raised.

'General' Cyclonus stepped off of the landing ramp and stopped for a moment to take in his welcoming party. About twenty human soldiers were scattered around ahead of him, all with their weapons trained on him. He barely gave them another glance before he focused his attention upon the four Autobots standing at the entrance of the hangar. An oddly friendly smile appeared at his mouth and he opened his arms, as if welcoming old friends.

"Ultra Magnus," he said. His voice was booming, confident. "How long has it been? How many cycles since we last met on the battlefield?"

"Not enough," Ultra Magnus commented. He considered drawing his weapon, if only for a moment. Cyclonus appeared to be unarmed, at least visibly. He likely had some form of on-board weaponry.

"As for your friends, I am not familiar with them." He eyed Wheeljack, Bumblebee and then Knock Out in turn. "Save for that last one. I've seen you somewhere before, Decepticon."

Knock Out smiled sheepishly.

"I couldn't forget you, Cyclonus," Knock Out said. Ultra Magnus looked at him, shooting him a stern glance that very much indicated that he wanted an explanation. Knock Out turned to him, still looking sheepish. "I treated Cyclonus' battle injuries once, a long time ago."

Ultra Magnus turned back to Cyclonus. There was a very deep scar across the Decepticon's left optic. The eye itself was intact, if a lighter shade to his other eye. It was likely a replacement he had received, as his previous left optic had presumably been torn to shreds by whatever had left him with that scar.

"Knock Out, is it?" Cyclonus stepped forwards. He watched the human soldiers tense up, their weapons still aimed at him. His attention momentarily shifted to Colonel Carver. "Tell these men to stand down, Colonel. I will not harm them, nor these Autobots."

Carver gestured with one hand to the soldiers and they lowered their weapons, though most were visibly anxious. Ultra Magnus could certainly understand why.

"I never thought I'd see you again," Ultra Magnus said.

"You know this guy?" Wheeljack asked.

"Hardly. He used to be one of Megatron's top Lieutenants. I fought his soldiers a few times."

"And what has become of my dear old friend, Megatron?" Cyclonus asked. On the landing ramp behind him, another two Decepticons appeared. They stopped at the base of the ramp, their hands clasped behind their backs. One looked fairly bulky, with a mostly purple and brown finish. His head lacked a discernible mouth and his optics were covered over by a yellow visor. As for his friend, he was more along the lines of a typical Decepticon, slightly taller than his friend and mostly grey and black in colour, with jagged armour plating that reminded Ultra Magnus of Megatron's armour.

"We don't know," Bumblebee replied, stepping forwards.

"He gave it all up," Wheeljack said. "Threw in the towel, as the humans would say. Turned over a new leaf. Went to wander the galaxy like a hobo."

"He's fallen far," Cyclonus commented. He smiled again, bearing a set of jagged steel teeth. "He was the one who tore out my left eye." He pointed to the slightly mismatched optic in question with one hand. "I failed him once, you see. And if it weren't for Knock Out, I'd have no depth perception. I regret not having the opportunity to return the favour to my dear old friend Megatron. _As the humans would say,_ 'an eye for an eye'."

"And the whole world would go blind." Fowler was the one to say this, catching a cold glare from the large Decepticon. "You here to negotiate or what?"

"You must be Agent Fowler," Cyclonus said, peering down at the human curiously. "Colonel Carver told me about you. I understand you helped the Autobots in their battle against my old commander?"

"Yeah. I did my part." Fowler then nodded over to Jack, who had been standing to his right. "And so did Agent Darby here."

"Another one of the Autobot's human allies," Cyclonus said. "You're so small, so fleshy, yet so tenacious. Colonel Carver proved as much when his soldiers eliminated one of my scouts."

"We were just doing our jobs," Carver replied.

"Indeed," Cyclonus added. He did so through a visibly clenched jaw. Apparently the death of one of his own had struck a nerve.

There was a brief silence amongst the group. Ultra Magnus did not know what to expect from this particular Decepticon. If their interaction so far was anything to go by he got the impression that Cyclonus was somewhat vain, perhaps more so than Megatron had been.

"What's with the 'General' title?" Wheeljack asked. He sounded unimpressed. "I didn't know Megatron had any 'Generals'."

"I was his only one," Cyclonus answered. "And then I failed him once too many times. I even think he was concerned I would try and kill him, put myself in charge of the Decepticons. Honestly, that 'betrayal' business was always more Starscream's thing." He paused and then gestured towards his ship. "If we are to negotiate, as is the purpose of this meeting, then we can do so on board my personal transport. It is far more comfortable in there."

"Go on board your ship?" Knock Out asked, the scepticism evident in his voice.

"And your human friends can come aboard as well," Cyclonus said. "I'm not going to take off with all you on board, if that is what you're concerned about. You may have your doubts as to my true intentions, and that is understandable, but I assure you that I am being genuine."

Knock Out managed another sheepish smile and clasped his hands anxiously. He looked over to Ultra Magnus, who simply nodded when faced with Knock Out's uncertain gaze. They were here to negotiate in a friendly manner. Going along with Cyclonus seemed the best choice at the moment, even if Ultra Magnus did not feel entirely confident in the matter. He started towards the landing ramp, with Cyclonus turning around and walking ahead of him. Slowly and somewhat reluctantly, the other Autobots began to follow. Both of Cyclonus' escorts parted to either side to allow the group to make their way past without hassle before they, in turn, followed the Autobots onto the ship. Jack, Fowler and Carver were the last to board the transport. As for the human soldiers nearby, they remained on guard. 

* * *

"You know what they do to deserters, eh?" Skywarp leered at her, the glee clear on his face. Skystreaker responded by spitting a large glob of energon fluid into that very visage. Skywarp took a step back and wiped it away with one hand, a chagrined look crossing his face.

"You shouldn't waste energon," he said carefully.

Skystreaker did not reply. It was hard to concentrate when she was hanging upside-down, her legs bound together by a sturdy metal cable. Her arms dangled underneath her, her fingers just able to scrape the grey metal floor below. The interior of the long-range scout-ship was surprisingly spacious, but it made sense from a design standpoint. A ship like this had been built to travel the vast distances of space whilst supporting a small crew. The large central room was practically a requirement, preferable over the usual cramped confines of a ship like this. It would help make the trip more comfortable than it might usually have been. The walls were a dark grey metal, painted black in places, with sleek curved columns spaced along the walls. Skystreaker had found herself in bad company and strung up like big game animal, albeit one that was still alive and kicking. Skywarp stood ahead of her, bulky for a jet-former. He was mostly black in colour, his form marred with scars and dents acquired from past battles.

"The General will certainly make an example out of you," Skywarp added. His voice was rough and, from Skystreaker's past interactions with him, his intelligence was minimal at best. He stepped towards her again, prodding one finger into her chest. He slowly traced it along one of the gashes that had been scraped into her frame, sending a stinging pain through her torso. She clenched her metal teeth and worked to keep a straight face.

"Deserters get worse than death," Skywarp continued. "They get taken apart, piece by piece, ever so slowly. Death by a thousand cuts." He paused, taking his hand off of her chest, a smile forming at his mouth. His top row of jagged metal teeth became visible. It was not a particularly attractive sight.

"It almost makes me sad, Skystreaker," he said, though his mocking tone indicated he was not entirely serious with this statement. "You and I have so much in common. Our names, for one. The times we flied together. You enjoyed the fighting as much as I did. We were even friends for a while, weren't we? Even more than that, at one point in time..."

"Don't remind me," Skystreaker said, interrupting him. "The thought of your chassis anywhere near mine makes me physically ill." She swung herself slightly upon the cable that kept her attached to the ceiling. It was very sturdy, yet flexible. She could swing herself, maybe grab his neck and attempt to tear his head off. He had already beaten her a few times, leaving her aching all over and low on energy. Hanging upside-down made it difficult to get any rest, as was likely Skywarp's intention.

One of the lights in the ceiling flickered as the door ahead slid open. A slightly shorter Decepticon strolled in, another Seeker jet-former like Skywarp. He had a typical Seeker missile launcher attached to one arm, as well as a pair of folded up metal wings at his back. This Decepticon would have to be Skywarp's slightly more intelligent brother Thundercracker, a Decepticon whom Skystreaker had only had limited interaction with, compared to her more thorough interaction with Skywarp in the past. Skywarp turned his head to watch his brother enter, his face contorting into a scowl.

"Shouldn't you be reading a data-pad or something?" Skywarp asked. "Better yet, shouldn't you be flying this ship?"

"I switched the auto-pilot on," Thundercracker replied. He stopped a short distance away, one optic brow-ridge raised. "You haven't been treating her too harshly, have you? The General would prefer we get her alive."

"Just so he can have her taken apart?" Skywarp seemed amused by the thought. "He wants her alive, he didn't specify the exact condition."

"It's about time you gave her some energon," Thundercracker noted. He was definitely the more reasonable of the two, this much was apparent. Skystreaker wondered why she had to fall in with bad company, in this case Skywarp, more so than anyone she might have been able to genuinely get along with. "We don't want her starving into stasis lock before we get back to the General, do we?"

Skywarp walked over to the dispenser on the far wall. With one hand, he pulled the lever there. The trickle of unclean energon that flowed out of the dispenser was a fairly pathetic sight in its self. Skystreaker was sure that the two Seekers had access to far cleaner reserves elsewhere on the ship, not that they would give her any of that stuff. Skywarp placed a small metal bowl under the trickle, filling it about halfway before he pushed back on the lever and shut off the flow.

Skystreaker watched as he walked over to her with the bowl in one hand. Stopping in front of her, he leaned down and shoved the bowl against her mouth, forcing the rim past her teeth before tipping the sickly and slightly blackened energon down her throat. The taste was, unsurprisingly, revolting. Much of it simply fell down her face, given the fact that she was upside-down, and trickled over her optics and crest. Skywarp stood up and tossed the bowl aside, letting it clank loudly against the wall nearby.

Skystreaker hated being vulnerable like this. Where most others would have understandably been fearful, perhaps even terrified of what their captors may do to them, Skystreaker instead found herself angry. Incredibly so, the rage threatening to spill out of her at any moment. Flailing about on the cable did very little, except maybe incite the delivery of another few punches and scrapes from Skywarp. They may have fought side-by-side on the battlefields in the past, but Skystreaker's choice to leave the Decepticon ranks had completely altered Skywarp's view of her. Thundercracker, on the other hand, did not appear too concerned with her. She was just an assignment to him, nothing more. However, he had been the one to strip her of her onboard weaponry, leaving her defenceless. Not that Skywarp would have been able to do such a thing. Technological proficiency was something he lacked. Beating someone into submission, on the other hand, was something he was very good at and greatly enjoyed.

"That's awful," Skystreaker croaked, spitting out what polluted energon was still in her mouth.

"Good to hear," Skywarp replied. His red optics lit up then when a thought occurred to him. Skystreaker figured this was a rare occurrence for him. This thought made her smirk. "Since we're taking you to your death, surely you have some last wishes?"

"Like what?" Skystreaker asked.

"Anything."

"Well if that's the case, my last wish is that you untie me," Skystreaker said. It was probably the wrong thing to say, despite the joking tone she spoke with.

Skywarp narrowed his optics at her. Thundercracker chuckled audibly from nearby.

"She's a fiery one, isn't she?" Thundercracker looked to his brother. Said brother did not return the gaze. "She's got bearings."

"Or she's just stupid," Skywarp countered.

"We'd have a lot more in common if that was the case," Skystreaker said. Skywarp did not hesitate to punch her in the stomach for that reply. The blow itself was fairly average, however it simply exacerbated the gashes that marred her torso. Each one of them erupted into a brief but excruciating wave of pain that worked its way through her entire body. She felt herself tense up in most places, grunting in response. She eased out of this state fairly quickly given the fleeting nature of the pain.

"I could cut you up even more," Skywarp said. "Maybe take off a few plates, even tear off your wings. All things the General and the others will likely to do you anyway, but I'd be happy to save them the trouble."

"You'd risk putting her into shock," Thundercracker interjected. "An unconscious prisoner is not what the General wants. He'll probably give her a mock trial or something, knowing him. She needs to be completely conscious and functioning for all that."

"What makes you think you can hold me?" Skystreaker asked. It was a serious question. "No Autobots who got hold of me kept me for very long."

A beeping noise from a nearby terminal caught the trio's attention. Thundercracker walked over to it and Skystreaker heard a vaguely familiar voice speak through it.

_"Hunters, this is Vortex,"_ the voice said. _"Your ship has appeared on our scanners. Have you got the deserter?"_

"This is Hunter One," Thundercracker said. "We have her. Tell the General we'll be at his location within the next few hours."

_"There's been a change of plan,"_ Vortex replied. _"The General has important guests over. Place your ship into a stationary orbit over the dark side of this world's moon. Keep yourself out of sight. I will call you later, once the General is ready to receive you and the deserter."_

"Guests?" Thundercracker took a moment to mull over what this might mean. So did Skystreaker, who took advantage of the distraction and tested the cable once again. Skywarp was within reach, although there was little she would be able to do to him from this position.

_"Above all else, do not allow the Autobots to detect you. The situation down here is of a sensitive nature."_

_Autobots?_ Skystreaker was surprised to hear mention of them. What could they be doing on whatever backwater world this ship had arrived near?

"You want us to hold on to the deserter?" Thundercracker asked. "My brother here is keen to get rid of her, if you know what I mean."

_"Keep him in check. I'll contact you later."_ The communications link was switched off abruptly then, leaving the three Decepticons to think over what they had been told.

Skywarp turned around to face his brother. This revealed the small blaster pistol he had held in place upon a magnetic clamp at his back. Skystreaker saw it and swung herself back as far as she could upon the cable. It would hopefully be just enough to get her to reach it. If she screwed this up, chances are Skywarp would do more to her than just beat her.

Thundercracker saw what she was doing but before he could say anything to alert Skywarp, Skystreaker came swinging forwards with her right arm outstretched. Her hand found its grip around the pistol's hilt and she tore it off of the magnetic clamp that had been holding it in place. Skywarp turned around and Skystreaker shot him square in the chest, sending a pinkish bolt of energy right through his core. There was a small puff of smoke and flame before he went stumbling backwards, his hands going to his newly received wound.

Skystreaker swivelled her arm and sent a bolt into Thundercracker, hitting him in the left shoulder. He stumbled a few steps but did not go down, so she fired again. The shot hit him in the neck and both his hands went to the scorched hole that had been seared through the metal there. Blue-white energon fluid spilled out as he fell to his knees. Skystreaker looked up and sent a shot into the cable above her, cutting it before it sent her falling head-first onto the floor. She landed on her side, only partially dazed before she stood up and considered her immediate options. She had maybe five seconds before the ship's Vehicon complement came pouring into the room.

Skystreaker walked over to Skywarp who was only just starting to rise to his feet. Skystreaker kicked him in the side of the head, causing him to yelp in pain as he fell flat onto his face. She kicked him again in the back, just to keep him down a moment longer.

The nearby set of double doors slid open and about four Vehicons came running in, weapons drawn. Skystreaker raised her pistol and opened fire, diving to the floor as they sent a hail of energy bolts her way. She landed by Thundercracker, who was still alive even with the gaping and scorched hole in his neck. With one arm, she grabbed him roughly, rising back to her feet with him held in front of her. The Vehicons continued firing, even with their commanding officer being used as a shield. Thundercracker let out a few pained yells as bolts of energy connected with him, causing him to jerk about in her grasp. He took about a dozen hits before the Vehicons actually stopped firing, their overzealousness presumably to blame.

Skystreaker did not waste time shooting back, cutting down one of the Vehicons with about three shots to the chest. She looked down, only for a moment, to check what Thundercracker was carrying, if anything. The now lifeless Decepticon could still prove to be of some use, as the launcher he had at one arm was still workable. Skystreaker clipped the pistol to her waist before she raised the dead Decepticon's arm and aimed the loaded missile straight at the Vehicons. They saw what was coming and scattered. The room around them had a significant lack of cover and even Skystreaker had her doubts as to the soundness of this particular course of action. Nonetheless, she worked a finger onto the trigger mechanism and fired the rocket. It shot through the room at a quick pace, leaving a smoking white contrail in its wake. It missed the Vehicons and instead struck the far wall, causing a violent eruption of smoke and metal fragments. The entire ship shook violently and Skystreaker let Thundercracker's lifeless body hit the floor, his usefulness gone.

Skywarp was slowly rising back onto his feet, even with the gaping hole torn into the ship's hull behind him. What little atmosphere on board the ship vented quickly, throwing out a Vehicon in the process. Skystreaker started to run straight for the gaping hole, aware that power conduits nearby had started to overload, sending showers of sparks raining down throughout the room. Whatever she had hit with that missile, it had apparently been important.

Skywarp's optics went to his dead brother and then to Skystreaker. She bolted past him, knocking him aside before he had a chance to open his mouth in rage. A panel on the wall nearby exploded, sending a small column of flames shooting forth. Energon was leaking from ruptured piping by the hole. Skystreaker dived through the hole, propelling herself free of the ship and into the vacuum. A large, spherical planetary body was some distance away, a grey moon pock-marked with craters. And even further beyond that, a few hundred thousand kilometres away, was a blue-white sphere.

_Autobots. I can get help from the Autobots._ She sure was not a Decepticon anymore. With the energon fuel leaking from the pipes by the hole, sending globules of it floating into the void, Skystreaker had another 'bright' idea and turned herself around as she floated further from the ship. Pulling the blaster pistol, she took aim at one of the pipes and fired.

The chain reaction was pretty to look at, even if it did not last very long in the vacuum. Flames erupted forth from the leaking pipe, flowing down the rest of it and spreading to the engines at the rear. Something detonated violently and the concussive wave was enough to send her flying backwards, leaving her without control of her own movements for a moment. She caught a glimpse of one of the larger engines exploding into flames, only for those flames to dissipate suddenly within the airless void. As the scout-ship started on a downward arc towards the nearby moon, Skystreaker swivelled around to look towards the blue planet ahead. There was really no other place to go.


	9. Negotiation

**Negotiation**

The interior of Cyclonus' personal 'yacht' was fairly spacious. In Cybertronian terms, the place was luxurious, something that Ultra Magnus found to be only more evidence of the General's vanity. There was still much of the typically grey Decepticon design within, but it had been offset by the addition of mostly purple decor, much of which was located within the large, circular central hall that Cyclonus took the group into. Here, a vast rectangular table was located, built out of what looked to be solid marble. It was certainly sturdy (as it would have to be, for Cybertronian use). There were a few dispensers in the middle, marked in the Decepticon language with the names of whatever substances they would release when their levers were turned. The floor underfoot was carpeted, an odd sight to see in any Decepticon construct, and the carpet itself was distinctly purple in colour. Upon the far wall, behind the end of the table, was the Decepticon seal. It was large and gleamed brightly in the white light emanating from the fixtures set in the ceiling above. A pair of Decepticon soldiers stood guard, one at either side of the room. A short distance from the table upon a raised bench were a few smaller chairs, no doubt intended for use by the human guests.

Ultra Magnus had not seen such luxurious decor for a long time. Much of what had been on Cybertron had been stripped during the war and after the world's abandonment. Even after nine Earth years worth of restoration work, the city of Iacon was still very much utilitarian. They did not have the resources to waste on something as lavish as Cyclonus' personal scout-ship. The General himself had likely procured the materials throughout his travels, perhaps even from Earth itself if the carpet was anything to go by.

Ultra Magnus followed Cyclonus into the room, with Wheeljack, Bumblebee and Knock Out walking a short distance behind him. He was surprised by just how much room there was, unlike most ships this size there appeared to be no cramped, claustrophobia-inducing corridors and rooms on this one. The Autobot Commander stopped by the table and took a good, long look at his surroundings. Two Decepticon guards, as well as Cyclonus and his two Lieutenants. Other than them, there were no other potentially hostile individuals in the room with them.

"Nice place," Wheeljack said as he entered, though his voice lacked any sincerity. His optics were narrowed, his face bearing an expression of scrutiny. Walking on board a Decepticon ship had likely set him on alert, driven by his combat instincts that had not at all waned since the war had ended. Ultra Magnus looked over to a display case on the opposite wall, a large one at that with several shelves spaced at varying heights within it. There was a strange alien skull on one shelf, one that was larger than Ultra Magnus' own head, complete with tusks and four eye sockets. Bumblebee wandered over to there, eyeing the skull carefully.

"Something I killed on my travels," Cyclonus said, getting the yellow Autobot's attention.

"Whereabouts?" Bumblebee asked.

"Some backwater desert world, far from here,' Cyclonus replied. "The sort of world that doesn't even have a proper name on our star-charts.'

"And those?" Bumblebee tapped one finger gently against the glass, pointing it in the direction of the old paper-bound books on the lowest shelf.

"Literature," Cyclonus said.

"You read?" Wheeljack asked this as he pulled a chair out from the table for himself. He sounded sceptical, as if he could not quite envision the General ever picking up a book or a data-pad.

"I'm currently perusing human literature," Cyclonus answered. He turned around to face the Wrecker before he stepped over to the head of the table.

Agent Fowler and Jack had walked in, followed by Colonel Carver. Behind them, the two Decepticon Lieutenants followed. Ultra Magnus watched the pair walk by, both of them stopping near the General before they sat down upon the seats closest to his.

"What interest would a Decepticon such as yourself have in human literature?" Knock Out was the one to ask this. He sat down in a chair across from Wheeljack's place at the long table. The Autobot Wrecker managed a fairly scornful glance in his direction, though Knock Out did not notice it. "I, personally, enjoy their television and cinema forms of entertainment."

"There is much to be gained from human culture," Cyclonus said. He motioned to Ultra Magnus and Bumblebee. "Take a seat, make yourselves comfortable. The same goes for your human compatriots."

"I don't think I quite expected this level of hospitality from a Decepticon," Fowler said. He started up the short flight of steps nearby that took him onto the raised bench where a set of human-sized chairs were located. Jack followed him up there, as did Carver. Colonel Carver was the first to sit down upon one of the chairs. As for Fowler and Jack, they sat down with some understandable uncertainty of the whole situation. Ultra Magnus could certainly empathise. This was not quite what he had expected when he had been told he would be 'negotiating' with a Decepticon.

"What is it that you read, General?" Ultra Magnus asked. He pulled a seat out for himself, sitting himself down on Wheeljack's left. This put him a single vacant seat away from the black-finished Decepticon Lieutenant, the one who was currently eyeing him carefully with a pair of blazing red optics.

"I did much research on the humans before I came here," Cyclonus said. "I found myself taken in by some of their classical works. Some of it is, admittedly, a great deal more fascinating than what our race has created. At least, in my personal view. Not to say the sagas of old Cybertron are bad, far from it in fact. But there is something that draws me in when it comes to the human works of old. 'All that live must die, passing through nature to eternity.'"

Ultra Magnus was not familiar with much human literature, certainly not to a significant extent. As a result, the quote was very much lost on him.

"Shakespeare," Colonel Carver said from his place on the raised bench nearby. "It's been a while since I read any of that stuff, but I recognize _Hamlet_ no problem."

"What do you know," Wheeljack said, "A literary-minded 'Con." He did not sound convinced. Ultra Magnus was simply befuddled as to why a Decepticon General, of all things, would find himself fascinated by literature, especially that from a race most of the Decepticons saw as 'inferior'. He did not voice this confusion and simply retained a straight face.

"Stories of vengeance, betrayal, greed. Reminds me of those who once ruled our world, the self-styled 'Council' who squabbled for every last bit of power they could while millions of our own either starved or were forced into the gladiatorial pits." Cyclonus' tone took on a more passionate edge as he continued to speak. "It probably is no surprise that those oppressors turned our culture into one based on decadence." He looked towards the three humans seated nearby, one optic ridge raised inquisitively. "Are you familiar with Cybertronian history? I know much of your Earth history, I found a great deal of it fascinating. Some of it even paralleled our own."

"I'm afraid my understanding of Cybertronian history is sub-par," Fowler replied. He exchanged bemused glances with Jack.

"Ours was a very caste-based society," Cyclonus said. He looked to Ultra Magnus then, as if he expected him to voice disagreement. The Autobot Commander simply sat silent as he listened carefully, figuring it best to allow the Decepticon General to continue talking._ We'll get to the 'negotiation' eventually._

"You were born into the role you were given," Cyclonus continued. "There was no moving up the social hierarchy, no matter how hard you worked. Decepticons such as myself were expected to labour our lives away whilst living off of what little scraps of energon we received in return. All the while those lucky enough to be sparked into a high-order of society lived in luxury. For thousands of years our society remained heavily regimented. The gladiatorial pits, the majority of them located in the city of Kaon, provided an outlet for the tensions that built among the lower classes. Many died, but the few that survived gained much prestige. Megatron was one of those, his great strength complemented by a cunning few others had."

"We know about Megatron," Jack said. "What about you?"

"My history, and that of Megatron, intertwine a great deal." Cyclonus paused for a moment, considering what next to add. Ultra Magnus felt like mentioning that they had actual issues to talk about, instead of hearing his life story. However, the Autobot Commander found himself curious about Cyclonus. He had only glimpsed the Decepticon General a few times in the past and had never had any significant direct interaction with him. All the information he was willing to give about himself would be most welcome for Ultra Magnus.

"He and I, we never saw eye-to-eye, as I mentioned previously." He pointed a finger to his slightly mismatched optic, where a long scar travelled across it and down to his mouth. "I was in a similarly low station as he was. I fought in the pits, killed my share of Decepticons. And I even fought Megatron."

Bumblebee noticeably leaned forward, intrigued. Ultra Magnus noticed that the others, with the exception of Colonel Carver, had reacted to this latest bit of information with piqued curiosity.

"You mustn't have won," Wheeljack interjected, somewhat callously. "I mean, bucket-head lived on after that fight. Then again, so did you. What happened?"

If Cyclonus felt any offence against Wheeljack's comments, he did not show it. Instead, he continued with his story, recounting his past with a passionate tone that Ultra Magnus found himself listening intently to. It was strange, he realised, to be so enraptured with this Decepticon's story-telling. Some of it was likely exaggerated, perhaps even fictionalised. Glancing over at Wheeljack, it would appear that the Wrecker was unconvinced.

"We fought each other to the point of exhaustion," Cyclonus said. "We used everything we could get our hands upon. Sometimes the arena masters would throw weapons into the pit, as bare-handed fights, especially if they were prolonged, would sometimes bore the crowd. It was a means to keep things interesting, so there would be blades, clubs, even a few old guns would be thrown within, though only with enough ammunition for one or two shots. I landed a few significant blows against Megatron. He did much the same to me, but otherwise we fought and we fought, the fight itself lasted hours. And then, at the brink of utter collapse, he bested me. I am not afraid to admit this, even to a group of Autobots."

"He beat you?" Wheeljack smirked.

"I beat him just as badly," Cyclonus replied. "But, in the end, he held me at sword-point, blade against my chest, right above my spark-chamber. He spared me that day, much to the chagrin of our masters. They only let it stand because the fight had been entertaining, more so than most that had come before it."

"That was it, then?" Bumblebee sounded unimpressed. "That was the only time you two had a fight?"

"That was shortly before the war broke out," Cyclonus said. "I was asked to join the Decepticon ranks, to fight for our freedom. Megatron recognized my skills and made me one of his Lieutenants. I believe now that he did not trust me, for I was vocal in my disapproval of his overall intention to place himself as supreme ruler of Cybertron. I was not in it for the power, you see. Certainly not to the extent that Megatron was."

"If you pardon my asking, General," Ultra Magnus said, getting the Decepticon's attention, "But is this why you were off the grid for as long as you were?"

"Megatron, when he departed Cybertron on board the _Nemesis_, assigned me and those I commanded to scour the further regions of space for Cybertronian relics. We found very little in that regard and, from what I've learned, Megatron found his way here and uncovered a great deal. I believe that he sent me away, along with those loyal to me, to avoid the inevitable conflict for leadership that would have occurred at some point between us. Putting me on a task that would take a great deal of time and net very few results was probably intentional on his part. It appears that now I shall not have a chance to look upon his like again, as much as I would like to. He is in exile, is he not? Or dead, a possibility that we would likely all prefer."

"All right, General, cut the scrap," Wheeljack said. "Is this why you brought us here? To tell us your life story? I thought we were meant to 'negotiate'." He spoke the last word in a deadpan.

"We have plenty of time for that," Cyclonus replied. "I think it's best we learn a bit about each other before we get down to the business of the matter. As I understand, Ultra Magnus here is the one currently in charge over on Cybertron?" He turned to look towards the Autobot Commander. "One of the finest Autobot warriors, from what I've been told. Your reputation precedes you."

"My position as the Autobot leader is only temporary," Ultra Magnus replied. Both of the Decepticon General's Lieutenants were watching him. He knew neither of them. "As for you, General, I'm curious as to the make-up of your forces. This ship is small, but heavily modified. Do you have another ship somewhere? A cruiser?" All reasonable questions, he thought. Cyclonus nodded slowly, a slight smirk appearing at his mouth.

"Why, Commander, I hope you're not treating this get-together as an intelligence gathering mission? We are friends here. I wish to keep it that way." He paused for a moment, one hand running across his chin as he thought over what to say next. Ultra Magnus did not trust this Decepticon, he doubted he ever would, no matter how affable he attempted to be. "I have many soldiers who are loyal to me." He gestured to the Decepticon seated to his left, the one with the yellow visor over his optics. "This is Vortex, one of my chief Lieutenants." And then he gestured with one hand to the slim, somewhat jagged Decepticon seated on his right. "And that is Shadowstriker, my other Lieutenant. He does not say much. He speaks only when he deems it absolutely necessary."

"He likes being the 'strong, silent type'," Vortex added, his tone a mocking one. He glanced across the table to Shadowstriker, who gave a brief and somewhat half-hearted frown as his only response.

"Vortex?" Wheeljack glared at him with recognition. "I might have heard about you. You're a Combaticon, right?"

"And you're a Wrecker." Vortex spoke bluntly, his expression unreadable through his visor and mask. "We might have something in common, Autobot."

"I doubt that."

The Combaticons had been a specialist unit in the Decepticon ranks, a bunch who had taken on the toughest missions for that side. _Much like the Wreckers_, Ultra Magnus thought. It was no wonder Wheeljack was eyeing Vortex with noticeable hostility. Vortex likely felt the same way.

"I understand, Ultra Magnus, that things on Cybertron are not quite as good as they could be," Cyclonus said.

"What have you heard?" Ultra Magnus did not wish to disclose any details until he was certain of what Cyclonus knew. There was no reason to go spilling the beans to a Decepticon General he had only just met, no matter how friendly he may appear to be. There was an almost sinister undertone to Cyclonus, likely a result of the scar on his face and the slightly mismatched optic he had. Ultra Magnus found himself wondering about how things might have gone had Cyclonus come to Earth when Megatron had been around. Would there have been conflict between the two, or would the two Decepticon warlords have worked together and caused far more trouble than Megatron alone had managed? It was naturally all speculation and Ultra Magnus found this train of thought interrupted by Cyclonus' words.

"I know that you are effectively in charge of the restoration effort there," Cyclonus said. "I am aware that Optimus Prime sacrificed himself to the Well of Allsparks in order to breathe new life into the world. However, even with that done there is a millennia's worth of war damage to repair. And there are old grudges carried by those on both sides, grudges that are unlikely to go away anytime soon."

"And what about you, General?" Wheeljack asked this question, watching Cyclonus carefully. "We were told you were in a sorry state. It doesn't look like that to me."

"Our supplies are low," Cyclonus answered. "The ship that brought me here lacks the fuel to travel outside of this solar system. Essentially, we are stranded and the energon-refining facilities upon my cruiser are no longer in working order. We have travelled the stars for a long time and, until recently, were very much convinced that the war was still raging. But, upon hearing of Cybertron's restoration and of the alliance the Autobots and the humans share, I have decided upon a course of action that I believe will benefit both sides the most. I called for this meeting, even if the humans, under Colonel Carver, terminated one of my scouts." He paused briefly then, glancing over at where the Colonel was seated. "That was an understandable response. You were simply defending your world from alien intruders. I would have done the same, in your position."

"The Special Reaction Taskforce was created with that express purpose," Carver said. "We are open to negotiation, especially since you were the one to contact us with that intent."

"And I mean it entirely," Cyclonus said. "I wear my spark upon my sleeve for you all." He gestured towards the dispensers in the centre of the table. "There is energon, among other things, available if you are feeling drained. Our supplies of the highly-refined variants have needed to be rationed, but as for the less pure..."

"Yeah, thanks but no thanks," Wheeljack said. "I don't accept drinks from 'Cons."

Ultra Magnus felt much the same way. He decided against helping himself to whatever beverages were on offer. As for Knock Out, he reached over to the dispenser nearest to him and filled a metal cup with some murky variant of energon that looked to be very much impure. Regardless, he downed the contents of that cup without hesitation. Looking at him, one might have been forgiven for assuming he was starving.

"As you wish, Wheeljack." Cyclonus leaned back in his seat. "I have wandered the stars for a long time and I wish to settle down, as do my soldiers. That is why we're here, to come to an understanding regarding where my soldiers can go and who, if anyone, will make use of the energon deposits here on Earth. It was the result of an attempt to take advantage of one that brought the Colonel's men after us, who in turn terminated the scout I mentioned. I wish to prevent something of that sort from happening again. Especially since it is clear that the Colonel and his soldiers have the means to fight us Cybertronians effectively."

Fowler glanced over to Carver then. Ultra Magnus saw the Agent's face was contorted into a distrustful scowl.

"Care to explain to me what you have to fight these guys with that I don't know about?" Fowler asked, his voice low. Carver raised one eyebrow slightly.

"That would be classified information, even to you," Carver said.

Fowler looked over to Jack.

"And what about you?"

"I can't really say," Jack replied. His tone was more uncertain and Colonel Carver was watching him carefully. Ultra Magnus saw that there was some sort of conflict there, between the three of them, although on Jack's part it was more of an inner conflict. Fowler, it appeared, was only just tolerating the Colonel.

"The energon deposits on Earth have been untouched since Megatron's defeat," Ultra Magnus explained. "We have only vague estimates as to their extent on this planet. Since Cybertron's restoration, we have not needed to make use of them. Energon deposits on Cybertron have been increasing in size for the past nine Earth years. It is the refining facilities, most of which were damaged or stripped bare during the war, that are the issue for us."

"I could conceivably take advantage of the deposits here on Earth for myself, then?" Cyclonus asked. Ultra Magnus sensed some slight elation in his tone. Wheeljack must have noticed it too because he audibly huffed. "Of course, I would need permission from the humans to do so."

"Well, you're not getting it." Fowler blurted this out in a classic case of 'speaking before thinking'. When all heads in the room turned to him he became noticeably uneasy for a moment and one hand tugged at his tie. This anxiety was quickly quelled by what strong feelings he had towards Cyclonus and his Decepticons. "I don't know about anyone else here, but I do not want a pack of Decepticons here on Earth, mining the very stuff they need to fuel their ships and their weapons and _themselves_. It'd be like having another Megatron around."

"Tiny's got a point," Wheeljack said. "I don't think you'd find many humans willing to have you guys around, General. I'm only just tolerating you 'Cons right now." He looked towards Cyclonus, his expression a guarded one. "Besides, General, how can we trust you, when you're asking us for energon?"

"You've got the soldiers," Bumblebee interjected. "With the energon to back you guys up, you could launch a full scale assault against the humans."

"And why would we?" Cyclonus asked. "What could I possibly gain from conquering this planet, or even at least part of it? You must overestimate me, Bumblebee."

"What brought you to Earth in the first place?" Ultra Magnus asked. From the way the others had been talking, it sounded like a full-blown argument might erupt. He did not want to start trouble, especially in this environment. A verbal altercation could easily turn into physical violence here.

"Megatron," Cyclonus said. "We were far out in space, but now and then we would send reports to Megatron. I already had some idea of where he had gone, it took some searching to pinpoint the exact location and by then he was gone and the Autobot presence on this world was diminished."

"And so you thought you could take advantage of the energon reserves here," Bumblebee said. "Until Colonel Carver and his Taskforce intervened."

"I had the wellbeing of my soldiers at spark," Cyclonus replied. "The journey to Earth was a long one and we had a number of setbacks along the way. Our refining facilities aboard my cruiser ceased functioning, for one. We lack the spare parts to repair such a sophisticated system. Our energon supplies began to run low and morale was diminishing. To chance upon the energon reserves on this world, a backwater according to our star-charts, was the break we needed." He spoke in a level tone, carrying an authoritative edge to his voice. Ultra Magnus figured him for a good orator, he had the kind of voice that would stand out amongst others, the sort that would grab one's attention almost right away. "If I am guilty of anything, it is attempting to ensure the survival of my soldiers. Energon is our life-blood, after all."

"The General understands that he has far better opportunities through civilized negotiation," Carver said. "He may have attempted to plunder an energon deposit from under our noses, but at least he is willing to admit this error in judgement. That's not something you'd get from most Decepticons."

"And I'd have nothing to gain from launching an attack upon human civilization," Cyclonus added. "I would only bring upon myself the wrath of the Autobots who are only a ground-bridge away. They have sworn to protect this Earth, after all. Isn't that right, Ultra Magnus?"

"Indeed." Ultra Magnus pondered how to respond to this situation. Did Cyclonus want to remain on Earth and utilise the energon deposits here? Because if that was really his desire, it was very unlikely the humans would play along.

"And that treaty that binds the two worlds together, Earth and Cybertron, is up for renewal, as I have heard," Cyclonus said.

"That's part of why I'm here." Ultra Magnus had almost forgotten about that little matter of the treaty. "It's only a formality. The ties between Cybertron and Earth are strong enough without it."

"The histories of both worlds are intertwined, are they not?" Cyclonus asked. This was certainly a rhetorical question so Ultra Magnus did not bother to answer. "That is what drew Megatron here, after all. The relics, Unicron, the energon. Two worlds so different, yet still closely related. In terms of natural beauty, Earth has Cybertron beaten."

"I don't think we'll be able to reach an agreement about the energon deposits here," Ultra Magnus said. "If you have been keeping up with recent events, then you'd know that we've been drawing as many Cybertronians as we can back to Cybertron. Autobot, Decepticon, it doesn't matter what side you might have been on during the war. We're rebuilding Cybertron and we're creating a freer society through that action."

"A freer society for yourself and your fellow Autobots, or for everyone?" Cyclonus leaned forwards in his chair, eyeing Ultra Magnus curiously. "Or are my fellow Decepticons still being used as labourers whilst being fed promises of something more?"

"We're all labourers now," Ultra Magnus replied. "Even I've done work at the construction sites spread throughout Iacon. Everybody has been doing their part. You and your soldiers could do a lot of good."

"Or cause a lot of trouble," Wheeljack said. Ultra Magnus shot him a stern glance but he either did not notice it or did not care. He did, however, look straight at the Autobot Commander and after a brief pause, he spoke carefully whilst he kept a straight face. "If General Cyclonus here is such a big-shot, then he's the exact kind of 'Con that others will rally around. I'm no politician and following that business is the least of my concerns, but I'm thinking that with the way things are now, with workers disputes and all that scrap, then bringing Cyclonus back to Cyberton could mess things up even more."

"Your friend is partially correct, Ultra Magnus," Cyclonus said. "I would certainly have considerable influence over some of the other Decepticons, much in the same way you have over the other Autobots. However, I have no desire to add fuel to whatever problems you are currently facing on Cybertron. I want to see our home-world returned to its former glory, albeit with a far freer society than the one it had before the war. I do not wish to instigate another one, if that is really what you think I intend."

"What is it that you want then, General?" Ultra Magnus asked. He realised he might have sounded sterner than he had intended, but he figured it best to get to the gist of the matter before the increasingly hostile atmosphere in the room reached a tipping point. Wheeljack looked as if he was about to pull out both his blades. Vortex's gaze was fixed on the Wrecker and the pair had seemingly entered some kind of staring contest, though Wheeljack was at a disadvantage given the fact that the Combaticon's optics were hidden underneath a yellow visor. It was nearly impossible to tell what he was thinking.

"Sanctuary," Cyclonus said. "Energon. A place where my soldiers can stay without being hassled by either Autobots, or humans. If you would have us on Cybertron, so be it. However, I wish to settle somewhere outside of Iacon."

"Iacon is the only city on Cybertron being repaired," Ultra Magnus explained. "Our current population doesn't make settling any further areas practical. It will be a long time before we have enough citizens to warrant expanding. There is still plenty of work needed to be done to make Iacon complete again."

"That is the Autobot capital, Commander," Cyclonus said. He did not sound impressed. "Again, I ask you what kind of society are you building. One free for yourselves, or free for all?"

"Where would you settle?" Ultra Magnus asked. It was becoming clear to him now that Cyclonus had a very particular set of things he wished to gain from this negotiation. "Kaon? Crystal City? There is nothing beyond the walls of Iacon but a wasteland. You are certainly free to rebuild, but why not help us do so in Iacon?"

"He's wasting our time, boss," Wheeljack said. Ultra Magnus turned to face him, feeling some annoyance at the interruption. "Isn't it obvious what the General wants? He got here, found himself a whole lotta energon, and now he wants it all for himself. He's just unlucky that the Colonel over there killed one of his guys." He nodded in the general direction of Colonel Carver. Ultra Magnus was not entirely convinced of this. Cyclonus may not even be sure of what he wanted himself, yet why would he have them brought here if he was just going to waste their time like this?

"My soldiers are in no real state to fight anyone, human or Autobot," Cyclonus said. "I do not wish to fight, not anymore. If other Decepticons can settle on Cybertron and aid in the rebuilding effort, then so can I and so can my soldiers. That is why I reached out with peaceful intentions..."

"Only after one of your scouts died," Bumblebee interrupted. "If that hadn't happened, we wouldn't be here and you'd be mining this planet clean of energon."

"The General's words are true," Vortex said. He looked towards the yellow Autobot and Ultra Magnus saw, despite the visor he wore, that his gaze was one of hostility. "He did not bring you all here just so you could accuse him of ulterior motives. None of us wish to settle within Iacon, not with the Autobots and not with the history of that place. The energon deposits on Earth are of no use to you, so why would you disallow us from making use of them?"

Cyclonus raised a hand, looking towards Vortex. It was a signal to stop and the Combaticon did just that.

"I don't want a pack of Decepticons on Earth," Fowler said, raising his voice. He sounded understandably upset. Ultra Magnus had a feeling that any intention of having a 'peaceful' negotiation had been all but killed by this point. "You can't stay here, I don't care if your ship's broken down. This is Earth, not some kind of Decepticon gas station. And who's to say we don't need that energon? We might be able to make use of that stuff one day. Technology's always improving, you know."

"I have to agree with tiny," Wheeljack said. "This whole meeting's just so the General here can avoid having half the Autobot military come down on his aft for what he's done. It's a damn waste of time." He turned towards Ultra Magnus. "What do you say we leave, huh Chief?"

Ultra Magnus would have preferred to sort things out now. It was clear to him that the somewhat friendly atmosphere of before had given way to something far more hostile. They would not be able to 'negotiate' anything like this and though he would have liked to have seen a peaceful solution to the matter, he realised that he did not trust Cyclonus much either. The General's intentions were still very muddied, save for the obvious desire for energon.

"We should leave," Ultra Magnus said. He rose out of his chair, with Wheeljack doing the same thing within a few seconds of him. "We can sort this out another time, maybe in a few days, once everyone here has calmed down." Starting a conflict with Cyclonus on Earth was the last thing he wanted to happen, yet the Decepticon General had said little to convince him of his overall trustworthiness. Wheeljack may have a point, regarding Cyclonus' intentions. He had tried to take advantage of Earth's resources and had been faced with a surprisingly effective human resistance in the form of Carver's Taskforce. Suing for some kind of peaceful compromise had become his only option. This implied, at least to Ultra Magnus, that Cyclonus was sincere when he spoke of the desperation he had for supplies, energon in particular.

Knock Out and Bumblebee rose out of their seats. Fowler and Jack did the same. Carver soon followed despite looking somewhat disappointed.

"We're going to have to reach a compromise eventually," he said aloud.

"I'll have my guards show you off of the ship," Cyclonus said. He stood up, motioning to the two Decepticon guards standing at the far end of the room. "If you wish to speak with me again, notify Colonel Carver. He'll notify me in turn and we can arrange something from there."

"Yeah, sure, we'll do just that." Wheeljack's sarcasm was blatant. He barely managed another glance towards the Decepticon General and instead strode out of the room, brushing aside one of the Decepticon guards.

"Remember, Autobots," Cyclonus called out, as the group filed out of the room. "Nothing will come of nothing. A compromise is needed, for both sides."

Ultra Magnus followed Wheeljack down the landing ramp, stepping back out into the cool night air of the runway. He caught the Wrecker by one shoulder, turning him around whilst Bumblebee and Knock Out stopped nearby. Once the humans had stepped off of the ramp it began to retract, with the two Decepticon guards who had followed them retreating back inside the heavily modified scout-ship.

Wheeljack looked at Ultra Magnus was obvious contempt.

"You dragged me here for that?" He asked. He was quick to shake himself free of the Commander's grip. "You can't seriously buy into all that? This Cyclonus guy is a whack-job."

"He could help Cybertron," Ultra Magnus said. "The Decepticons are lacking in strong leadership. If we could convince him to..."

"To what? You want that guy leading the Decepticons?" Wheeljack shook his head. "He's Megatron 2.0."

"He could stabilise the political situation."

"Or make it worse."

"Probably the latter," Knock Out interjected. He had stopped nearby, listening carefully to the exchange the two Autobots shared. "I don't know a great deal about the General, except that he's only slightly more sane than Megatron ever was."

"Yeah, and Megatron was good at playing 'Mister Nice Guy' when he had to," Wheeljack said. He raised an optic ridge, looking over to Knock Out inquiringly. "You can't seriously think this guy is any better? He dragged us out here to waste time, maybe throw us off what he really wants."

"I think your personal feelings are making you paranoid in this matter, soldier," Ultra Magnus said. "I don't trust the General a great deal, as we only just met, but I find it hard to believe that he's after anything more than what he told us he wanted. Energon, supplies, a place to live."

"And you'd bring him to Cybertron?" Wheeljack sighed. "If you're having trouble with the 'Cons now, they'll only get worse when a big-shot like Cyclonus shows up."

"Old grudges don't go away easy," Bumblebee added. Ultra Magnus was not sure whether he was referring to the Decepticons or to Wheeljack. _Probably both_, he realised.

Behind them, the ship's engines had started in earnest. The landing pads slowly retracted and the craft itself began to hover in place. The Autobots and the humans standing near them watched as it began to ascend slowly, rising over the runway and the hangars before shifting into an eastbound direction. It travelled slowly, gaining more and more altitude as it moved.

"I wonder what air traffic control's going to think," Fowler said as he watched the ship leave. He, Jack and Carver were standing close-by. Carver had pulled out a mobile phone and was talking into it, his voice low and drowned out by the noise of the ship's engines. He lowered the phone for a moment and looked up at the Autobots.

"I have to go," he said. "It was a pleasure meeting the lot of you." He put his phone back into his jacket and turned around, starting on his way down the runway and in the direction of the main gate. Ultra Magnus watched him leave, unsure of what to make of that particular human.

Knock Out turned around and smiled towards his Autobot companions.

"Aren't you glad you brought me along?" He asked. Wheeljack scoffed.

"No, we're not."

"Well, you mustn't realise that I slipped a small homing tag aboard that ship," Knock Out replied. "Thought it might do us some good."

Ultra Magnus heard this and his first reaction, on any normal set of circumstances, would have been to scold the former Decepticon for such an underhanded action. Knock Out revealed one of the tags in question, about the size of one of his fingers, slim and easily concealable. Ultra Magnus realised what the presence of one aboard the ship would mean. Regardless of any stealth systems the scout-craft had, the presence of a beacon on board would enable them to keep track of it regardless.

"I want to see where that ship's headed," Wheeljack said abruptly, having reached the same conclusions.

"He could be heading into orbit for all we know," Bumblebee replied.

"If anyone's going to follow him, it's not going to be you, Wheeljack." Ultra Magnus watched the Wrecker carefully. Reconnaissance was the last sort of mission he would send Wheeljack out on. He did not want him going out and doing something reckless, not when the situation was a sensitive one.

Wheeljack scowled at him but did not move any further. He usually obeyed orders, even if he did not completely agree with them.

"Bumblebee, see if you can keep track of that ship," Ultra Magnus said, turning towards the yellow warrior. "Follow it as far as you can. I want to know where Cyclonus is operating from. That ship is only part of something much larger."

Bumblebee nodded. He was the sort of Autobot whom Ultra Magnus could probably trust with this sort of mission, as he was far less likely to do anything outright reckless.

"On it," the Autobot replied. He quickly shifted into his vehicle mode, that of a yellow and black sports car, and promptly started driving for the nearest exit from the compound. Far in the distance, hovering over the rocky hills and mesas of the Nevada desert, Cyclonus' ship appeared as a sizeable black blob against the deep purple-blue of the night sky.

"What about the rest of us, chief?" Wheeljack questioned. "You want me to wait around, maybe watch some TV?" Once again, he made his sarcasm as obvious as possible.

"We'll wait here," Ultra Magnus said. He was not sure exactly what they would do in the meantime. He considered sending the others back to Cybertron, as they were probably not needed anymore. Wheeljack had already proven just how 'well' he could operate in a negotiation with a Decepticon. Sending him back home might have been a good idea, but on the off-chance that Cyclonus was not being truthful he would want someone like Wheeljack here with him. "I'm sure there are people here on Earth you'd like to catch up with, Wheeljack. Take the opportunity to do so."

Wheeljack's expression lightened up, if only by a little. Ultra Magnus, meanwhile, would wait until Bumblebee reported back. He was sure he could find something to do during the downtime. Thinking over improved means of 'negotiation' was one thing that sprang to mind.


	10. Night in Nevada

**Night in Nevada**

"How you been holding up?"

Jack sat back in the passenger seat of the mostly white sports car. Next to him, the steering wheel and the accelerator and brake pedals operated themselves. Sitting in the driver's seat while Wheeljack 'drove' himself had not felt right to him.

The Autobot insignia was a bright blue crest set within the centre of the steering wheel, glowing in the dim light. Outside, the desert highway they travelled along was illuminated only by the headlights of Wheeljack's vehicle mode and the moon high above. It was always sort of eerie, driving through the desert in the dead of the night. Jack was beginning to feel the result of this very long day and found it hard to keep his eyes open. Wheeljack's voice had cut through the silence abruptly enough to jolt him from his half-asleep state.

"Maybe I didn't phrase that right," Wheeljack said. "How's life been, Jack? I could tell you all about my last nine years, if you're interested in being bored half to death."

"Is Cybertron that bad?" Jack asked. He cleared his throat then and rubbed his eyes. Despite the cool interior of the vehicle, he had slipped off his jacket and taken off his tie.

"Bad? It's not 'bad'. It's home."

"Home is where the heart is," Jack replied, only to mentally slap himself for saying something so trite. "You know where you're headed, right?" He had given Wheeljack the location prior to leaving with him. He had assumed the Autobot could use whatever scanners or positioning systems he had to pinpoint the location.

"I'll get you home, Jack. Don't you worry." He paused briefly, before adding, "So, you want to talk or you going to sleep? I don't mind either way. I could do with a bit of quiet. Might give me a chance to think about my own life."

"You make it sound like you're having a mid-life crisis."

"Maybe I am." Wheeljack gave a short chuckle. Apparently the idea amused him. "Everybody's talking about settling down, over on Cybertron. I guess that's all anyone wants to do in peacetime."

"And you?" Jack had found himself missing the Autobot Wrecker, even if their interactions in the past had been fairly sporadic. Wheeljack had never stayed for long until the final months in their fight against Megatron. Even so, he had become just as much of a friend as the other Autobots had.

"I got my job," Wheeljack said. "Believe it or not, Jack, but I used to be a scientist. More of an engineer, but sometimes I'd dabble in the really complex stuff. The chief gave me that old job. We've got a shortage of experienced engineers and scientists, so I guess he thought it'd be a good idea to make me one."

"You were a scientist?" Jack had heard this before, though not with any details. "You don't seem the type. No offence."

"I get that a lot," Wheeljack replied. The highway ahead shifted onto a far more elaborate set of freeways. Further up ahead, jutting out of the barrens was the brightly-lit and unmistakable sight of the Jasper 'skyline'. The tallest building was probably only about ten floors total, the town itself no more than a tiny dot upon a map. By the road leading into town, a fairly dusty sign stood: WELCOME TO JASPER, POPULATION 7,567. The outskirts were where most of the town's suburbs were located, fairly flat neighbourhoods with houses that looked alike and immaculately cut lawns that stood in stark contrast to the surrounding dry desert sands.

"I got dragged into the soldiering business when they found me wandering around some ruins in a daze," Wheeljack continued. "This was a long time ago. Apparently I'd been held captive by Shockwave, but if that's true I can't remember it. I became a Wrecker not long after."

"And now?"

"Now I spend most of my time fixing other people's problems," Wheeljack said, his voice laced with disdain. "Someone breaks something, they call me. I'm the 'fix-it' guy now, apparently. And the chief keeps giving me things to do, even when I've already got enough on my plate. It's not what I thought peacetime would be."

"I think some old war veterans feel that way," Jack said. "A lot of soldiers coming back from the First World War, often with post-traumatic stress disorder, would find themselves without work and sort of lost in life, I guess. It happens to a lot of war veterans, even to this day."

"I don't see myself settling down," Wheeljack replied. He drove onto one of the quiet, suburban streets of Jasper, slowing down as he did so in order to obey the speed limit. Only the streetlights were on at this hour and the roads themselves were devoid of traffic. "There's still a lot of 'Cons out there. Cyclonus is just one big-shot, there are probably more like him doing whatever it is a 'Con does when they're not fighting in a war."

"And what would that be?"

"Why are you asking me? I've got no idea." Wheeljack brought himself to a halt outside of a modest house at the end of the street.

"You don't think you're cut out for peacetime?"

"I can put up with it," Wheeljack replied. "But I don't see myself playing along with it for much longer. I guess I always saw myself as going down during the war, usually in a blaze of glory. Living through it was a surprise, I guess."

Jack nodded slowly. He could understand the sentiment. Some of the things Wheeljack had done in the past, in their fight with the Decepticons, had seemed to indicate that he had had either a death wish or was simply so sure of his own abilities that he took risks very few others would take. _It was probably a bit of both_, Jack thought. The door on his right swung open then and Jack climbed out. From one jacket pocket he pulled out a remote for the garage door ahead, pressing the appropriate button that brought the door creaking slowly open. It was loud enough to wake the neighbours. As it opened, Wheeljack closed his passenger side door and headed for the garage. Getting out of vehicle mode was something he would not do out on the streets, while at least in the garage he would have the room and the privacy to do so. He certainly did not want to start a panic in his neighbourhood through bringing an alien robot home with him, even if it was the dead of the night.

Jack followed Wheeljack into the garage before he pressed the button on the remote again and brought the door down. As soon as it was down, Wheeljack literally unfolded himself from his vehicle form, squatting down in the mostly empty garage. There were some shelves nearby, a few cabinets as well, while the whole room itself carried the distinct smell of timber.

"So, where's Miko?" Wheeljack asked.

"The garage door probably woke her up," Jack said, looking up at Wheeljack. "She probably won't be so happy that she was woken up in the middle of the night, but I'm sure her mood will change as soon as she sees you."

"So, you two, uh..." Wheeljack trailed off, scrunching up his face in uncertainty. "Well, I guess the word would be 'together', if you wanna put it lightly."

"You could say that," Jack replied. "We have our ups and downs. My work keeps me away from home for long periods. She has family in Japan, so she goes away a fair bit too. It's a tricky business, but it's working. Sort of, anyway." He did not feel the need to divulge any more details to Wheeljack. The atmosphere within the garage had become a bit awkward, a sensation that Jack would have far preferred to have avoided.

Suddenly, Jack's cell-phone began to ring and vibrate within a trouser pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the display. It was the Taskforce.

"What is it now?" He said aloud. Wheeljack peered over, curious. Jack hit the 'decline call' button before pocketing the phone again. "Not now. It's like Colonel Carver thinks I don't need to sleep."

"Huh. Even I need to 'sleep' once in a while." 

* * *

Deadeye had not expected to be called out on action at such a late hour. Nonetheless, he took his time getting ready, taking the opportunity to buff the silver and blue finish at his chest and arms. He also checked the television guide, noticing that if he were to leave now he would likely miss out on _Shaft's Big Score_ that was due to be aired on one of the cable channels. The Taskforce had been kind enough to give him access to just about every channel available in the United States, a means to keep him from getting bored and to increase the chances of having him stay around. He could leave at any time, he knew this much, but he liked it here. Sure, there were humans like Captain Van Cleef whom he did not find much to like about, but others, like Jack Darby, had very much become friends to him.

Deadeye had been called into action by the Captain, who strode into his hangar and told him that they had detected a possible Decepticon in the region. The Autobot, once he was sure he was ready, his finish immaculately buffed and the television set to record the movie he would likely miss, made his way outside and onto the grounds of the Taskforce compound. It was close to one o'clock in the morning and a cold wind blew. About twenty Taskforce soldiers were sorting into several Hummers and SUVs, some with machine guns mounted on the top. It was standard preparation when faced with a potential Decepticon threat. The Captain was standing nearby, overseeing the soldiers into their vehicles.

"What can we expect?" He asked him.

"We have no real details," Van Cleef replied. "Only that it could be a Decepticon. It was detected flying into the region, so if we want to intercept it we'll have to take it by surprise. We don't want it flying off."

"Where is it now?"

"An old scrap-yard about fifty kilometres from here. Fall in with the rest of the convoy and we'll move out."

Deadeye nodded in acknowledgement. He checked over both of his pistols, ensuring that they were both charged up and ready for combat. He tucked both back into his forearms before shifting into his vehicle mode, that of a mostly blue two-door muscle car. Kicking the engines into gear, he watched as the other half a dozen black vehicles, three SUVs and three all-terrain Hummers, started their engines and began making their way towards the compound's main gate. Van Cleef caught a ride in the last vehicle, with Deadeye trailing closely behind it. The main gate of the compound slid open as the convoy approached. In coordinated movements, the six vehicles drove out of the compound with Deadeye a short distance behind. They travelled along a short dirt road before turning onto a desert highway, heading northwards.

The trip was uneventful, giving Deadeye time to think. He knew why the other Autobots had come to Earth, though he had no desire to meet them. Nor did he have any interest in getting mixed up with this Decepticon 'General' he had heard about. He acted mostly for his own self-interest and he knew full well that this was the case. The Taskforce gave him what he wanted and now and then they would want his help in bringing a Decepticon intruder down. It was these occasions that actually gave him an opportunity to exercise his combat skills and he often found a thrill in fighting, despite its inherent dangers. The war with the Decepticons was mostly over, from what he had been told, it was the renegades and the stragglers that remained. He certainly had no desire to go to Cybertron and be put to work on some construction site.

_They don't call me 'Deadeye' for nothing,_ he mused. _Best sharp-shooting scout on Cybertron._

He began to flick through radio stations, settling on something he had heard before and found that he enjoyed. When it came to entertainment, the humans had a wide variety of it at one's disposal. All the more reason for him to stay on Earth and enjoy himself.

_"There's some dudes in a bar with busted heads and broken jaws. What hit 'em?/ _Truck Turner!_"_

Time passed and the convoy went off of the highway, turning onto a bumpy dirt road that took them towards a set of old buildings that were more or less located in the middle of nowhere. It was a rusted, fenced-in compound that took up a surprising amount of ground. The hulks of vehicles, most of them lacking wheels, were piled on top of one another within the scrap-yard's perimeter. There was one large building near the partially open main gate, with another one comprised of a pair of garages at the far end. The convoy halted at the gate and three of the vehicles parted from it, one heading left and two heading right. Captain Van Cleef emerged from the vehicle in front of Deadeye, followed by a pair of armed Taskforce operatives in black combat gear. Van Cleef opened the back of the vehicle, revealing several computer monitors and connected panels within. He put a finger to his ear-piece and spoke, his voice crackling through Deadeye's comms.

"Deadeye, can you hear me?" He asked.

"Yeah," Deadeye replied.

"Connection's good, then. You take position at the main gate but don't head in until I give the signal."

Deadeye drove up to the main gate. He was unable to see past the main building and the tall piles of scrap metal up ahead of him. There was a narrow dirt path that wound through it all, heading by a large conveyor-fed crusher that was situated in the centre of the scrap-yard. It was rusted in places, jutting out above the rest of the scrap-yard like a thorn.

_This whole place is like some bizarre charnel house_, Deadeye thought. He shifted out of his vehicle mode, shutting off his radio as he did so. Pulling out both his pistols, he waited by the gate, crouching down as he did so. The other cars had moved to the flanks of the scrap-yard, keeping watch on each of the exits. Deadeye heard the unmistakable sound of chopper blades and turned his head, looking across the desert plain. Stark against the night sky was the piercing white light of a helicopter searchlight beam. The rest of the helicopter flew into view, almost as black as the night, its curves catching the moonlight from above. It hovered in place nearby, going no further over the scrap-yard. Van Cleef watched the camera feeds from it on the monitors in the back of the nearby Hummer.

"We have visual contact," Van Cleef said into his ear-piece. "There's a heat signature by the large bus wreck near the crusher." He motioned to the operatives standing near him. They started jogging by Deadeye, heading into the scrap-yard with their assault rifles held at the ready.

"Air cav, move in and prepare the grapples," Van Cleef said. He waved up at the helicopter and Deadeye watched as it moved over the scrap-yard. "Deadeye, head in but keep a low profile. If it sees you it'll probably make a run for it."

Deadeye nodded in reply. Slowly, whilst keeping low, he moved through the main gate, clutching his pistols tightly in his hands. There was a pounding in his chest, the pulsing of his spark betraying his calm exterior. He would have liked nothing more than to rush in and blast the Decepticon away, but the Taskforce usually operated in a more low-key manner. They were more cautious when dealing with Decepticons, an aspect of them he did not always appreciate.

Deadeye moved around a pile of scrapped vehicles, finding himself with a fairly unobstructed view of the crusher in the middle. There was a wrecked bus there, as Van Cleef had mentioned, but he could see no Decepticon. The human operatives nearby spread out and he saw about half a dozen more walking into the area from up ahead. He sensed movement by the hulking structure that was the crusher. Something silver shot across his peripheral vision and he raised both pistols, taking aim in its direction.

"I saw movement," he said into his comms. Above, the helicopter moved in, flying low. There was an operative manning the grapple gun at its side, seated behind it with one hand on the trigger. There was a similar gun on the opposite side, each loaded with specially made grapples that were both magnetic and armour-piercing.

"Keep the men back," Deadeye said. He could hear Van Cleef giving orders through his comms. He had stopped nearby, followed by a pair of operatives. One of them was carrying a fairly long metal case and he laid it on the ground nearby. Deadeye watched as the operative opened it, revealing the long black-metal weapon within. He had never seen that sort of gun before, so his curiosity was naturally piqued.

The operative pulled the hulking gun out of the crate. It looked like an oversized sniper rifle at first glance, with a large rectangular scope and a long, thick barrel fitted with a bipod underneath. The operative placed a large, boxy magazine into the bottom of the weapon, just ahead of the trigger-guard. The length of the gun itself was at least two-thirds the height of the operative, who stood at about average human male height.

"What the hell is that?" Deadeye asked. Van Cleef looked up to him, his mouth forming into a smirk.

"The newest toy at the Taskforce's disposal," he answered. "Taipan Anti-Material Cannon. Thought now would be a good opportunity to take it out for a proper field test."

"Looks like your guy can barely hold it," Deadeye said. The operative wielding the hulking rifle tucked the stock against one shoulder, with his other hand going underneath the weapon where it found a grip just in front of the magazine. He jogged over to a nearby wreck and set the weapon onto the rusted trunk of the car, using its bipod for stability.

"Keep a look out," Van Cleef said. "The target's hiding somewhere. Our fellahs in the chopper can't seem to get a fix on it."  
Deadeye looked towards the crusher ahead, surveying the area. If a Decepticon really wanted to hide here, it could do so amongst all the wrecks if it was especially desperate. He started forwards, passing the operative with the 'Cannon'.

"Where are you going?" Van Cleef barked in his direction.

Deadeye ignored him and continued onwards towards the tower structure of the crusher where he stopped by one of the motionless conveyor belts. Again, he glimpsed something silver move behind a pile of scrapped vehicles past the tower. He stood up and pointed both his guns in its direction, running his scanners over the area in the hope of catching some sort of reading. Decepticons could often hide their life energy signatures, as could the Autobots, but in such close proximity such systems were unreliable. That, and this Decepticon did not seem to be bothering with such precautions. He picked up its signal through the wrecks and sent a few shots its way, the blue bolts of energy leaving a few smoking holes in the rusted metal. The Decepticon stepped into few, winged and noticeably feminine in appearance. It returned fire with a volley of pink energy blasts, causing Deadeye to duck. One of them hit the top of the conveyor near his head, briefly filling his eyes with bright pink light.

"Move in, move in!" Van Cleef motioned to the operatives to rush ahead. A grappling cable shot out of the helicopter above, landing a hit on the Decepticon's left arm. This yanked it away from her, causing her to stumble while the operatives rushed ahead with their guns raised.

The operative working the Taipan Anti-Material Cannon took aim and fired, the shot sending a loud _crack_ echoing throughout the scrap-yard. The shot travelled fast, leaving a wispy white contrail behind it before it connected with the tower near the Decepticon. The whole bottom of it exploded violently, causing Deadeye to stumble slightly as the concussive wave and heat hit him suddenly. The entire bottom section of the crusher blew out from underneath it, raining searing metal fragments all around.

Deadeye recovered quickly and rushed ahead, watching as the female Decepticon struggled within the grasp of the cable. He did not hesitate to run towards her, pointing both his guns her way. Her red optics looked at him and she went to point her blaster towards him but Deadeye was on her in seconds, kicking the weapon free of her grip before pressing the barrel of one of his pistols between her optics.

"Dead or alive, you're coming with me." He took a closer look at her. The Decepticon insignia was emblazoned within the centre of her chest. She had a mostly silver and grey finish, with some black at the shoulders and stomach. She carried a fairly slim frame, one geared towards speed and agility rather than brute force. Unlike most Decepticons Deadeye had run into on these operations, this one surrendered surprisingly quickly.

"Hey, easy big guy, I was just defending myself," she said, speaking in the Autobot dialect of Cybertronian. Deadeye was surprised to hear this, although he was quick to assume that it was typical 'Con procedure when faced with imminent death: act friendly and hope your opponent let his guard down.

"Shut up," he said in English. "And when you're on Earth, you'd do well to learn the native languages."

"I know them too," she replied in English, raising an optic ridge as she spoke. Nearby, Van Cleef and the operatives had gathered, surrounding the Decepticon with their weapons raised.

"I did my research," she added.

"What's your name?" This was Van Cleef who asked the question. He stepped forwards, followed by the operative wielding the Anti-Material Cannon. The Captain put aside his submachine gun and gestured to the operative to hand over the Cannon. He did so and Van Cleef had no trouble getting a grip on the bulky weapon. He pointed the long barrel straight at the Decepticon and peered through the scope. Deadeye took a step back, figuring that aiming his gun at the Decepticon's face was no longer needed.

"Answer the question," Van Cleef said, his tone completely level. His finger hovered over the trigger of the hulking rifle.

"I'm called 'Skystreaker'," the Decepticon replied. "And I surrender. Completely and utterly." She smiled up at Deadeye. He did not appreciate the look for he detected something slimy underneath it. "I'm not like the other 'Cons."

"And how is that?" Van Cleef asked. He did not sound convinced. Deadeye felt similar.

"That's a long story," Skystreaker said.

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to tell us it when we drag you back to headquarters." Van Cleef lowered the Anti-Material Cannon. He looked over to the operatives standing around him. "Prep this one for transport."

"She could easily transform," Deadeye warned. "She's a jet-former. Those are hard to catch."

One of the operatives approached Skystreaker with a long metal prod tipped with an armour-piercing point. Deadeye had seen the device before back at the compound, but he had never seen it in action, nor had he thought to ask what it was. The operative forcibly jabbed the device into Skystreaker's stomach, finding a point between the armour-plating where he could work in the end of the prod. Almost as quickly as this had happened, the operative pulled it away, leaving a small silver disc where the prod had connected.

"That'll disable her T-cog for a while," Van Cleef said. "Enough time to have us drag her back to headquarters." He looked at Skystreaker, who had an understandably pained look on her face. "We have a whole hangar designed to keep someone like you locked up tight." He smiled as he said this, receiving a venomous look from Skystreaker in return.

"What other toys do you have that I don't know about?" Deadeye asked. He narrowed his optics, feeling both curiosity and concern that the Taskforce had something that could actually disable a Cybertronian's mean of transforming, even if only for a limited time.

"Nothing you have to worry about, china," Van Cleef answered. He smiled at him, the sort of smile that Deadeye would not trust from anyone, let along Captain Van Cleef.


	11. Reconnaissance

**Reconnaissance**

Cyclonus' ship rose to a high altitude as it travelled over the Nevada desert. Bumblebee, as per his orders from Ultra Magnus, kept it on his scanners whilst working his way along the desert highways and occasionally heading off road. It was almost pitch-black on some of these lonely roads at this time of night, with only the moon and the stars providing any real illumination. Not very many people travelled along these highways this late at night and Bumblebee had so far only had three other vehicles pass him by, all of them trucks presumably moving loads while operating on tight schedules.

The trip had given him plenty of time to think. He had paid a visit to Rafael on his last visit to Earth a few days before. He had been glad to see that young man moving up in the world, working on becoming a physicist on a scholarship program no doubt aided by his connections to Unit-E. As for this business with Cyclonus, Bumblebee felt no trust towards the Decepticon at all. However, unlike Wheeljack's more blatant dislike of the Decepticon, Bumblebee preferred to keep an open mind. Even if Cyclonus was being genuine in wanting peace, it would take a lot of convincing for Bumblebee to buy into it. He was more than happy to see wherever it was Cyclonus had decided to set up camp here on Earth and so he was relieved that the lengthy drive, with the Decepticon General's 'yacht' a small dark blob against the night sky, would likely come to an end soon as the modified scout-ship began to descend. It moved down gradually, taking itself beyond a row of rocky hills in the distance that were very literally situated in the middle of nowhere.

He sent a ping along his comms letting Ultra Magnus know his status and of the ship's descent. Once this was done, he shifted gears and took himself off of the desert highway, kicking up a plume of dirt behind him as he crossed onto the barren desert plains. Dried vegetation was crushed under his wheels as he sped in the direction of the ship. He switched off his headlights as he movied, a means of keeping as low a profile as possible, leaving him to rely more on his sensors for navigation. The beacon Knock Out had slipped onto the General's ship enabled him to keep track of it despite the distances involved and the ship's stealth systems. According to that beacon, the ship had settled somewhere beyond the hills ahead. He was certainly curious to see what kind of operation Cyclonus had made for himself here on Earth and just how many soldiers he had at his disposal.

It took another fifteen minutes for Bumblebee to reach the base of the rocky hills. He transformed, rolling out of his vehicle mode before starting up the nearest hill ahead of him. It was a fairly easy climb, no trouble for a warrior such as him, and he came to the top of it in short order. Ahead, he could make out a large valley below, spreading out for some distance. Within it was Cyclonus' scout-ship, parked at the very bottom with a few Decepticons milling about it on patrol. As for any larger ship or base, Bumblebee could not see any sign.

_Is this all he's got?_ He mused, both surprised and somewhat underwhelmed. He had half-expected to come across an entire legion of Vehicons or something of that sort, as if General Cyclonus was plotting an all out assault against humanity. Maybe he had been telling the truth? For a General. he apparently had very few soldiers at his command.

Bumblebee heard rocks crumble behind him. He turned around, seeing a few small chunks of dirt and rock go rolling down a slope to his left. No one was there, though he knew better than to get complacent. He readied the plasma cannon at his right arm, shifting his hand there into the form of the sleek cannon, one with a short barrel that glowed a brilliant blue. The darkness was thick out here and he found himself relying more on his scanners than his normal eyesight. Any Decepticon with half a brain could have easily thwarted the most basic scanners, but the Autobot had little else at his disposal.

At that moment, a voice rang out from somewhere very close by. He did not recognise it, although it sounded very much like a Decepticon. Raspy and masculine, its tone was a mocking one.

"Is the little Autobot lost?"

Bumblebee looked around, tensing up as he prepared himself for the expected attack. He doubted Cyclonus would take kindly to an Autobot following him all the way back to his encampment. His gaze went to a small slope a short distance to his right where a figure had appeared, one that struck him as strangely familiar. Nothing showed on his sensors and the figure itself was almost as dark as the night.

"Who's there?" He called. He pointed his plasma gun at the figure and stood his ground. Until he knew more about what kind of situation he had fallen into, he would hold back on pulling the trigger. He did not want to jeopardize the possibility for actual negotiation with Cyclonus if that was indeed what the Decepticon really wanted.

There was a glint of something shiny and the figure seemingly disappeared. Bumblebee took a few steps forward, his optics searching around for any trace of the Decepticon (at least, that was what he assumed it was). Like a phantom, the Decepticon had vanished. _Am I going crazy?_

"You coming here will save me a lot of legwork." The Decepticon spoke again, this time from somewhere close behind him.

_No, I'm not going crazy._ Bumblebee swivelled around and found himself face-to-face with Shaodwstriker. The Decepticon was about a head taller than him and far bulkier than he was. He leered down at Bumblebee with blazing red optics and a malevolent smirk, with one slightly curved silver blade clutched in one hand. Bumblebee had little chance to react, surprised that this Decepticon had snuck up on him so easily._ I must be losing my touch._

He had no chance to fire, since the Decepticon swung the blade with lightning speed. It cleaved the plasma cannon and the rest of Bumblebee's right forearm clean off of his body. The pain was excruciating and the young warrior let out an involuntary yelp, stumbling backwards while his hand and the cannon it had wielded hit the dirt below with a subdued _clunk_. Bright blue energon fluid gushed out of the cleanly-cut stump like a geyser, dribbling down his arm and trickling onto the ground where it stood a stark contrast to the sand around it. Aside from his optics, it was probably the brightest source of illumination here.

Bumblebee's senses were almost overloaded by the pain. His spark pounded rapidly in his chest yet even now he was beginning to feel a little woozy. Losing so much life-fluid so quickly could to that to a 'bot. As for Shadowstriker, he sheathed his sword at his lower back and grabbed the Autobot by the neck. Bumblebee was faced with the malevolent red optics and for a fleeting moment was convinced that they would be the last thing he saw before he died.

"No death for you," Shadowstriker uttered, as if reading his mind. With his free-hand, he plunged a finger into the stump at Bumblebee's right elbow, sending a shot of agony up his arm and straight into his head. He pulled the finger free quickly, only now it was covered with the bright blue of Bumblebee's energon. The young warrior watched through the haze of pain and wooziness as the Decepticon placed the finger in his mouth, practically licking it clean.

"A single strand of CNA," he said. He dropped Bumblebee to the ground where he fell onto his knees, his gaze floating back up to Shadowstriker. The Autobot watched, both fascinated and disgusted, as the Decepticon's entire form began to visibly shift. The grey and black armour plating began to fall away, with yellow and black taking its place. Parts of the Decepticon landed around Bumblebee, smeared with traces of energon. Shadowstriker's red optics turned blue and increased in both size and circularity until, within seconds, Bumblebee saw himself looking up into his own eyes.

Shadowstriker had become the spitting image of the Autobot down to the optics, face, colour-scheme and just about everything else.

He spoke again, his voice a perfect emulation of Bumblebee's own.

"Do you like the _new_ me?" He asked. His leering smile was all the more disconcerting, now that he was doing it with Bumblebee's own face. Before the Autobot could say anything in response, Shadowstriker delivered a swift and powerful kick across Bumblebee's head, rendering him unconscious.

* * *

It was peaceful out here. Wheeljack sat against the side of the Darby house, watching the night sky above. The backyard was fairly large, comprised mostly of a lawn, a narrow winding brick path and rows of bushes by the fences. A shooting star streaked across the sky overhead, fading almost as quickly as it had appeared. Wafting in across the surrounding desert plains was a gentle breeze, one that rattled the leaves of the nearby shrubs. Wheeljack actually found himself enjoying the quiet for once. Even on Cybertron he had not had much chance for peace such as this. Here on Earth, away from the constant work of reconstructing Cybertron or the threat of Decepticon attack he could sit back and actually enjoy doing nothing. He was usually not one to idle in this manner but for tonight, he could make an exception.

The more he sat here, he realised, the more he wanted to actually stay on Earth. It was funny how things worked out, that when he had been here fighting the Decepticons he had always been keen to leave, to go his own way and fight the Decepticons on his terms. Now, with all that over with and a life of work during peacetime ahead of him, he found himself longing for the way things had been. It was foolish, he thought, to actually want the war back. He had lost enough friends the first time around._ Maybe that Taskforce is hiring?_ It was a fleeting thought, a possibility that he might have been able to capitalise on, that if Decepticons were still showing up on Earth then joining the one group who was fighting them directly might give him something really interesting to do. Then he remembered Colonel Carver and found that he had no desire to work with that man.

He heard the back door of the house swing open and close. Jack came walking up to him, still in his work clothes. Wheeljack looked over to him, smiling warmly.

"Hey, kid," he said.

"Funny how you keep calling me 'kid'," Jack replied, returning the smile. "Now that you mention it, I may only be twenty-five, yet I'm already feeling nostalgic for my childhood. The world's changed a lot since then. Things were simpler."

"Yeah. That's about right." Wheeljack gently pulled one of his katanas from his back, twirling the blade around in one hand while he admired the view over the white fence a short distance in front of him. Beyond it was the very edge of Jasper, Nevada. Nothing but hills and desert and dry vegetation no higher than his ankles.

"You know, the neighbours might see you," Jack said.

"At this hour?" Wheeljack spun the blade about in his hands, juggling it expertly between both. "Unlikely. Everyone's in bed, as you should be."

"You going to be all right out here? Not bored or anything?"

"I'll take a nap," Wheeljack replied. Clutching the sword in one hand, he gently thrust it forward into the empty air in front of him whilst remaining seated. He imagined impaling a Decepticon right there. Dreadwing sprang to mind, a Decepticon he had very much liked to have killed himself given what he had done to Seaspray.

"I'll wake myself up in the morning," he added. "And then I'll take you and Miko out some place nice."

"That's if work doesn't call me," Jack responded.

"Always on call, huh?"

"Yeah. It wasn't like that when I was sixteen. I wasn't part of any 'Unit' or 'Taskforce' then. I'd go in and out of the Autobot base whenever I felt like it."

"Like you said. Things change." Wheeljack slid the katana into place at his back. "Sometimes for the worse."

"Sometimes for the better."

"Usually for the worse," Wheeljack countered. There was a brief silence between the two of them then. Wheeljack wondered what was going on with Bumblebee and the others, whether the young warrior had uncovered any interesting information as to Cyclonus and his location. A seemingly vain Decepticon 'General' would likely have some kind of grand ship or headquarters somewhere. The inside of his modified scout-ship had certainly spoke to what lavish tastes he had. At least Megatron had gone more for functionality instead of aesthetics when it came to his ship design.

"How's Arcee been?" Jack asked. "Do you two see each other a lot?"

"She's like she's always been, kid," Wheeljack answered. He had not seen too much of the Autobot female for some time. Their different lines of work tended to keep them apart. "We work different jobs. She's training recruits while I'm down in the bowels of Iacon putting everything back into working order. But what I do see of her, she's doing well. She'd visit more, if work didn't get in the way."

"Work always gets in the way," Jack said. "For you and for me."

"That makes it even more of a problem when we're on different planets. I've only been back here a day and I'm already liking it more than Cybertron."

"You said earlier it wasn't that bad." Jack's voice was laced with doubt. Wheeljack knew that he may have been making a bigger deal out of the matter than it really was, but sitting here now with no other Autobots around, left to his own thoughts, he found himself leaning more and more towards the more extreme view.

"Maybe not," Wheeljack said after a pause. "I was a soldier, kid. A Wrecker. Not an engineer, not a scientist and sure as hell not a diplomat. The chief dragged me here because he thought this 'negotiation' might help me change my view of the 'Cons. I'll tell you right now it hasn't. You might even say it's had the opposite effect."

"I don't trust Cyclonus either," Jack said. "Neither does Fowler. Not even Colonel Carver thinks he's being genuine, he just thought it'd be better to try a diplomatic solution. But what if Cyclonus is being genuine, Jackie?"

"Then things have changed so much it's like I'm living in a dream-world."

"You'll adapt. We all have to."

Wheeljack nodded. Adapting and improvising was one thing he had prided himself on, the ability to face any situation and tackle it accordingly. However, that was very much in the realms of combat, not diplomacy and certainly not the dirty work he was being given over on Cybertron.

There was a ringing noise then, somewhat muffled as it emanated from a pocket in Jack's trousers. Wheeljack watched him pull out a cell-phone and place it to his ear. Jack listened to the voice on the other end for a moment, one eyebrow becoming raised in some slight bemusement.

"Deadeye?" Jack said into the phone. Wheeljack did not recognize the name, nor was he certain if it even was a name. It sounded like something a Cybertronian might call themselves, he realised, but not any Cybertronian he knew. "You know you're not allowed to call me on this number..." He trailed off as whoever was on the other end interrupted him. "A Decepticon? Alive?"

"They caught a living 'Con?" Wheeljack understood the implications immediately.

"I'll be there as soon as I can." Jack ended the call then, sliding his phone back into his pocket. He looked up at Wheeljack, who's curiosity had been suitably piqued upon hearing what had been said.

"Who's Deadeye?" Wheeljack asked.

"That's...an awkward question," Jack answered.

"And he caught a 'Con? Is that what happened?"

"Apparently so." Jack shook his head then, as if he could not quite believe it himself. Wheeljack sensed that maybe that was not the reason for his reaction, if the way he furtively glanced over at the back door of the house was anything to go by. "I need some sleep."

"You can take a nap on the way," Wheeljack said. "I want to meet this 'Deadeye' character."

"That may not be a good idea."

Wheeljack raised an optic ridge. Why was Jack being so secretive all of a sudden? He had thought that their friendship enabled them to be a bit more open to one another.

"Why's that?"

"It's a Taskforce thing," Jack replied. "That's all. They captured a Decepticon and are keeping it detained within their compound."

"And let me guess," Wheeljack said. "They don't want an Autobot like me interfering? Are they gonna interrogate this 'Con or what? Dissect it, even?"

"Dissect it?" Jack shook his head. "That's unlikely."

"You're not giving me much to go on, kid."

"I don't know much about the situation myself. But it's a big enough deal that I'd like to go check it out."

Wheeljack smirked. Jack had, under the assumption that he would have at least one day to himself, brought Wheeljack home and had left his actual, non-Autobot car back at Unit-E headquarters. The sudden change in plan had left Jack in an awkward position, according to what Wheeljack could gather.

"Look, I'll lay low if you want me to," Wheeljack said. "I'll drive you to the compound, drop you off. We can meet up at another time."

Jack nodded in agreement. It was a sound enough plan, though secretly Wheeljack had no intention of 'laying low'. He wanted to check out this 'Taskforce' and see whether or not they were all that they were cracked up to be.

"I'm just worried about what Miko might think," Jack said. "We had plans for tomorrow."

"I'm sure she'll understand." From what Wheeljack had seen of the pair of humans, there was some degree of hostility between them. _Maybe 'hostility' is too strong a word,_ he thought. _'Tension' is probably better._ They were not married, but they had been living together for a few years now. Jack's near constant work schedule had put some strain on their relationship. When it came to that sort of thing, Wheeljack was very much out of his element. Long term relationships of that sort were not something he was with. They were usually more trouble than they were worth.

"You go wait for me out front," Jack said. "I'll go tell Miko where we're headed." He started walking for the backdoor before managing one more glance back at Wheeljack. "Wish me luck."

Wheeljack smiled at the comment, yet part of him would have liked to have seen the pair getting along a bit better than they were. Still, his attention was set more on finding out about this business with the Taskforce. Capturing a Decepticon alive was always an interesting, sometimes illuminating, event. It may even shed some light onto Cyclonus' true intentions, something that Wheeljack was certain the Decepticon General was intentionally hiding._ Never trust a 'Con._


	12. Detainment

**Detainment**

"How about you let me out of here? You and I could have some fun."

Deadeye watched the captive Decepticon with narrowed optics. Before him was the detainment area, comprised of a large partitioned section of one of the hangars on the Taskforce compound. Solid steel and cement walls were to either side and to the back, while the front was taken up with force-field emitters that the Taskforce had cobbled together with some input from Deadeye. He had no qualms about helping the humans construct such devices if it meant keeping Decepticons like the one in front of him locked up, or better yet, deceased.

The hangar had been overhauled from its original use, with the windows near the ceiling replaced with concrete and metal pylons. The detainment area took up about three quarters of the hangar, with two narrow entrances at the front of it that were both shrouded over by rippling bars of blue energy. There was nothing within the detainment area save for the captive Decepticon, the female known as Skystreaker. Even with her flight capabilities, she would be hard-pressed to bust out of there. The walls were steel and concrete, constructed out of some of the strongest alloys that existed upon this planet. It had been put together with the express purpose of keeping Cybertronians locked up.

One thing Deadeye had found odd about this particular Decepticon was that she had already been stripped of her on-board weapons systems. The old throwback blaster she had carried with her had been her only weapon. Deadeye had it in his left hand now, taking the opportunity to look over the old-model energy weapon. He had always had an affinity for pistol-weapons, he believed that they required a great deal of finesse to operate compared to the larger rifles and cannons that so many others like him used. That was why he carried two pistols at all times, both guns he worked to keep in as good condition as possible.

"Where did you get this?" He looked towards Skystreaker, who stood on the other side of the rippling pylons of energy. Nearby, powerful generators hummed audibly, working hard to keep the energy fields in place. "This is an early-war model. It's outdated."

He was not alone with her. There were four guards standing at the large double doors behind him, two on the inside and two on the outside. The doors in question were only partially open, left in such a way that he could squeeze in and out.

"Not to say it can't kill," Deadeye added. "You Decepticons must be getting pretty desperate if this is what you've taken to carrying." He paused for a moment, before adding: "So, what's your story?"

"Just on the run, you know, that old tale," Skystreaker said. She sounded remarkably calm despite her situation. She leaned by the side of the doorway of the detainment area, her red optics gazing at him between the pylons of rippling energy. "My father died, you know. Not too long ago."

"I'd say I was sorry," Deadeye replied. "But he was a Decepticon, right? Can't say I've ever felt sorry for a Decepticon dropping dead."

"That's where you're mistaken, handsome," Skystreaker said. She added the last part with a smirk. Deadeye could feel her eyes taking him in from top to bottom. It was likely just an attempt to make him feel uncomfortable, maybe even coax him into letting her loose. From past interactions with Decepticon females, some of them were like this. They would use their feminine wiles to get the better of their foes, especially if it meant saving themselves.

"My father was an Autobot," Skystreaker continued. Deadeye was only slightly surprised to hear this. Unions between certain Autobots and Decepticons were not unheard of, although they were understandably looked down upon given the fact that the two sides had been at war for so long. "You could say I was _pressed_ into becoming a Decepticon."

"Yeah, I'm sure you've got a whole sob story," Deadeye said, waving one hand dismissively. He noticed her expression scrunch up slightly. "Poor little girl gets 'forced' to be a Decepticon. I bet your Autobot daddy wasn't so happy with that."

"He was so unhappy he got killed for it," Skystreaker replied. Her voice had taken on a more hostile tone. "I'm not a Decepticon anymore."

Deadeye scoffed. He nodded in the direction of her chest where the Decepticon logo was emblazoned upon the centre, glowing a faint neon purple against her mostly silver and black frame.

"Could have fooled me," Deadeye said.

"I'm a deserter," Skystreaker replied.

Deadeye used the magnetic clip on the hilt of the old blaster to attach it to his lower back. He would keep it with him for now, three guns was better than two after all.

"Look, I'm well past my bedtime," Deadeye said. "I'll be back here to talk to you tomorrow. You can save me the sob story until the proper interrogation then. In the meantime, you should just sit back and relax, eh? I'm sure you can find something to do in your empty cell." He smiled. There was something satisfying about having a Decepticon in a position of vulnerability. He started for the hangar's doors, glancing back at Skystreaker as he left. She was watching him carefully, likely plotting out an escape in her mind. She was unlikely to get out of the detainment area.

Deadeye was looking forward to talking to her in further detail tomorrow, but for now he had the partake in the Cybertronian equivalent of sleep.

* * *

Wheeljack had taken Jack to the main gate of the Taskforce compound. It was late, about half past two in the morning, so there were few guards on patrol and those that were out looked either tired or bored. Wheeljack remained in his vehicle mode as he brought down the driver's side window to allow Jack to pass his ID to the guard at the gate. Despite the flashy white sports car with the green and red decals that Jack had rolled up in, the guard seemed unconcerned, giving Jack's ID a once-over before gesturing to the soldier seated in the guardhouse nearby. That guard ran his own ID card through a slot on the panel in front of him and the gate slid open. Wheeljack started into the compound, heading for the nearby parking lot.

"So, who's this Deadeye guy?" Wheeljack asked. Jack, who had spent most of the drive asleep in the seat, rubbed his eyes and shrugged.

"He's a friend," he answered.

"Odd name for a friend."

"Yeah, it's almost as strange as 'Wheeljack'." Wheeljack would have rolled his optics in response, had he not been in vehicle mode. He opened the driver's side door and Jack climbed out. The cold breeze must have hit the human hard since he was quick to pull on his jacket, closing it up to provide some relief from the harsh temperature.

Nearby, a pair of patrolling guards stopped. One of them pointed to the car, something that Wheeljack noticed. Had he been made? He had no idea what kind of technology these Taskforce guys had at their disposal. Still, even if they knew what he was, what were they going to do? Arrest him? He almost laughed at the thought.

Jack nodded in the direction of one of the larger hangar-type structures.

"They've got a detainment area in there," he said. Wheeljack found this statement a little odd. Had the humans put together a cell specifically for Cybertronians? Given the nature of the Taskforce, he found himself relatively unsurprised by the development.

Wheeljack looked over to the two guards at the other end of the parking lot. The lot itself was mostly empty, with about five other cars scattered nearby. The guards had a fairly open line of sight. Such a thing went both ways and Wheeljack was able to watch one of them pull a small black box from one of the pouches at his waist. There was a pair of antennae on it and the guard began to manipulate the dials and buttons upon the device's front.

_What do you know, they've got their very own energon detectors._ He continued to watch the pair of guards. The second one began to speak into his ear-piece. Jack, meanwhile, had started to walk for the hangar when Jack called out to him.

"Hey, kid, I think I've been made." He stated this calmly, finding himself mostly unconcerned with what these humans might have in store for him. However, he did worry about what kind of effect this may have on Jack, as he had been the one to bring him here. _At my request, no less,_ Wheeljack thought._ Looks like I'll be the fall guy in this one._

"I'll talk to them," Jack said. The two guards began to approach, one working the device while the other readied his assault rifle.

"Yeah, I'd say I've been made." He transformed out of vehicle mode quickly, flexing his limbs and joints once he stood complete in biped form. He watched the reaction on the two guards, both were quick to raise their weapons rather than elicit any significant surprise. They were certainly well disciplined even when faced with a Cybertronian, a trait he could admire. In the nine Earth years since Megatron had disappeared, the humans had clearly worked hard to improve their defences against potential alien hostiles. He gave the two guards the slightest of smirks, narrowing his optics towards both.

"I don't take too kindly to strangers pointing guns at me," he said. He realised Jack was watching him, one hand to his face while he shook his head in dismay. Several other guards had come running over, their weapons at the ready. Wheeljack could have easily made a run for it but that would have likely caused more trouble. So, somewhat reluctantly, he raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender.

"I'm not here to hurt anyone," he explained. "I'm just here to, uh..." He trailed off. What had he come here for? To satisfy his curiosity and nothing more? That was a fairly flimsy excuse, but it was essentially the truth.

"I'm an Autobot," he said. "I'm on your side. I heard you had a 'Con problem and I thought you could use a hand." He felt some relief at his quick thinking, having cooked up a plausible sounding reason as to why he had come here. The Taskforce's line of work had certainly caught his interest, even if he did not entirely trust Colonel Carver.

"Stay right there," one of the guards ordered. Wheeljack had no real choice in the matter, judging from the way the group of guards had moved to surround him. He doubted their weapons would cause him any significant damage if they did start shooting, although he did wonder as to what else may have been at the Taskforce's disposal. They had killed a bunch of 'Cons in the past, according to the Colonel, and capturing one alive was no easy feat.

The guard who had given the order was speaking into his ear-piece. Wheeljack looked over to Jack, who was watching the whole scene with a grave expression.

"Something the matter, kid?" Wheeljack asked him.

"I don't think the Captain's going to be very keen on having you here," Jack answered.

"Who?"

"The Colonel's second-in-charge. Pik Van Cleef. He's a real, well..." Jack trailed off then and shrugged. "You'll know what I mean when you meet him."

"Uh-huh." Wheeljack was already bored waiting here for the humans to get organized. He started walking across the parking lot, ignoring the calls from the guards to remain where he was. _What are they going to do? Arrest me?_ They would not shoot at him. That would cause a diplomatic incident, one that Ultra Magnus would certainly not take kindly to. As for where the Autobot Wrecker was headed, he had started for the building Jack had pointed out to him earlier, the one that contained the 'detainment area'. It seemed as good a place to start as any. Glancing behind, he watched with some amusement as the guards ran after him.

There were a few other guards out and about. All of them watched him stroll through the compound, some standing their ground while others readied their weapons. That would have been more of a precautionary measure, Wheeljack figured. He stepped into the building ahead, entering a hangar-like expanse where his gaze immediately fell upon the rippling beams of energy at two Cybertronian-sized doorways up ahead. Both looked in on the same large but empty detainment area. Wheeljack moved forwards, his curiosity taking him to one of the doorways. There, he was surprised to have his gaze met by a striking silver and black Decepticon. He was even more surprised when he saw that this Decepticon was very much female, judging from the agile frame and sleek curves. She had an optic ridge raised and her arms crossed over her chest. Her boredom had apparently been broken by his arrival.

Wheeljack had some (battlefield) experience when it came to female Decepticons. From what he had learned over the years, most were the manipulative sort, as if it were some kind of trait they were born with. As for this one, the way she was looking at him, with a mix of curiosity and amusement, implied that she might be much the same. The human guards from outside had followed him in, scattering about behind him.

"Who might you be, handsome?" The Decepticon spoke in a sultry tone. "You here to break me out?"

"Afraid not, sweet-spark," Wheeljack replied. She was certainly attractive, for a Decepticon, and very young. However, he was not so easily swayed by appearances, especially from a 'Con. As for his recent 'interactions' with the opposite sex, it was probably unsurprising that a fair few impressionable Autobot females back on Cybertron had become enamoured with a Wrecker. After all, he was a war hero. That was one perk about it being peace-time.

He turned around, watching as a tall guard in a black uniform entered the building. He wore a red beret and his uniform carried the insignia of a Captain. He stopped a short distance ahead, looking up at Wheeljack with a guarded, if scrutinising, gaze.

"It's not every day we have an Autobot break in," the man said. His voice carried an accent of some kind, whatever it was, Wheeljack's knowledge of such a thing was fairly limited. This Captain had likely grown up somewhere other than the United States.

"Your guards let me in," Wheeljack replied. "I didn't have to break anything."

Jack walked in at that point. He weaved his way between a few of the guards and stopped a short distance from the Captain. His attention went to the Decepticon standing behind the pylons of energy past Wheeljack.

"That's probably the first time the detainment area's been put in use," he commented. The Captain turned to him, his face scrunching up into a scowl.

"Agent Darby, you wouldn't happen to have had an involvement in this?" He gestured towards Wheeljack with one hand. "Allowing an Autobot onto the premises?"

"He's an Autobot, so I fail to see how it could be a problem," Jack replied. He raised an eyebrow. "And I didn't have a car."

"Why are you even here, Darby?" Van Cleef asked. "I thought you were taking the day off tomorrow?"

"I was. Then Deadeye called me."

"Deadeye called you?" Van Cleef narrowed his eyes. "You mean to say that idiot actually called you? Told you about the capture he helped make?" He nodded in the direction of the Decepticon prisoner.

Wheeljack found himself feeling a little lost in this conversation. He was practically standing on the sidelines, some of the finer details unknown to him. Being left out of the loop was enough to make anyone annoyed, most of all him.

"I want to meet this 'Deadeye' guy," Wheeljack said.

Van Cleef turned to him. He was keeping a straight face now, even if the look in his eyes belied the frustration he was feeling.

"I ought to have you thrown in there with the Decepticon," he said, no doubt referring to the detainment area behind Wheeljack.

"Sounds like it could be fun," the Decepticon in question added.

Wheeljack found the human's reaction a little extreme. He could understand that he had come here uninvited, but this sort of response was something he would expect from an enemy, not an ally. Then again, this 'Taskforce' seemed the sort of organization that would throw its fellow human being under a bus if it meant getting ahead. Either that, or this was the just the way Captain Van Cleef reacted to problems like this. Regardless, Wheeljack found a strong dislike for the man brewing inside him.

"I'll have to let the Colonel know about this," Van Cleef said, looking back at Jack. The younger man did not seem fazed. "If your Autobot friend here causes any trouble, you'll have to answer for it. Is that understood?"

Jack smirked and exchanged looks with Wheeljack.

"Jackie," he said. "Do you promise not to cause any trouble?" This was an obvious joke, one that Wheeljack had no problem playing along with.

Van Cleef glared at the Autobot Wrecker who gave a short, mocking bow and put on his best smile.

"I promise not to cause trouble, tiny," Wheeljack replied, looking straight at the Captain. The way the man's eyes widened with anger made the remark worth it. However, despite his anger, Captain Van Cleef was very good at keeping it under control.

"While you're here you'd do well to adhere to protocol." Van Cleef spoke through gritted teeth. "That includes using the appropriate titles."

"All right then, ti-I mean, _Captain_." Was this human really going to boss him around? Wheeljack found it amusing at best. He was not one to take orders from humans, certainly not from one he had only just met and already disliked.

Van Cleef turned to the guards and pointed at two of them.

"Keep an eye on him," he ordered. "Everyone else, return to your posts."

With that, Van Cleef marched out of the hangar, followed by most of the guards.

"What's up with Captain Hard-ass?" Wheeljack asked. He looked towards Jack, who approached him and stopped a short distance away. Jack gave a shrug in response.

"I don't know," he said. "He's some kind of ex-South African Special Forces guy or something. Treats most of the soldiers here like shit."

"He reminds me of an Autobot officer I worked with once, during the war," Wheeljack said. He leaned back against the wall behind him, only vaguely aware of the Decepticon female hanging around in the room at his back. "He was sort of like that. I guess it was no surprise that no one liked the bastard."

"What happened to him?"

"You could say he was killed by 'stray bullets'." He made air quotes with his fingers for the last two words. The implication was clear and the Autobot noticed Jack's inquisitive, if somewhat uncertain, expression. "Hey, don't look at me, kid. It wasn't my fault."

"What a fascinating topic of conversation." The female voice from behind him caught his attention, especially the sarcastic tone it carried. Wheeljack swivelled around and found himself facing the female Decepticon again. She was standing right at the energy beams, just short of getting herself singed upon them. "What other war stories do you have for us?"

"You want war stories, babe?" Wheeljack nodded. "I can give you war stories, if you want. But I don't even know your name..."

"My name's 'Skystreaker'," the Decepticon replied. "And you would be?"

"I'm Wheeljack. A Wrecker."

"A Wrecker?" Skystreaker put her hands up in front of her face, putting on a mock show of horror. "Oh, take a step back everyone, we have a _Wrecker_ on the premises!" She lowered her hands, her narrow red optics eyeing him curiously. "I can't say I've heard of you, Wheeljack."

"That really puts a dent in the old ego." Wheeljack was surprised that the Decepticon was acting the way she was, given her situation. Most 'Cons rarely reacted well to being locked up in a cell. The airborne ones even less so. Those ones tended to get incredibly anxious the longer they spent cooped up in an enclosed space. He could admire Skystreaker's tenacity, to keep it cool even when she was locked up.

"What brings a 'Con like you to this backwater?" Wheeljack had come here to satisfy his curiosity and that was exactly what he would do. He noticed a few surveillance cameras up on the walls and wondered if they had microphones. They likely did, meaning that the humans would be listening to everything he said to their captive. _They're probably taking notes right now._

"I heard about how nice the beaches were here and thought I'd drop by," Skystreaker said. Her snarky tone gave away her lack of honesty. "What do _you_ think brought me here, Wrecker?"

"I don't know." Wheeljack shrugged. "Maybe you got lost? Or maybe you're in with Cyclonus? Or maybe, just maybe, you're on the run from someone?"  
Skystreaker's demeanour changed noticeably. Wheeljack knew he had struck a nerve and so decided to press on it a bit more. Behind him, Jack watched carefully, finding the exchange an interesting one.

"Who are you running from, girl?" Wheeljack tilted his head slightly as he spoke. "Is there a big bad 'Con out there someplace who wants to do bad things to you? If that's what's going on, then you don't need to worry about him any longer because I'm here."

"Can't say I feel more at ease," Skystreaker said. "Besides, you're a bit off the mark there. I'm a deserter. I'm on the run from _every_ Decepticon, not just one."

Wheeljack nodded in acknowledgement. He knew the Decepticon policy towards deserters, partly because it was fairly simple. Deserters were killed, maybe tortured beforehand but the result was always the same. Sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, a deserter may have been taken in by the Autobots. Such occurrences were few and far between.

"You've come to the wrong planet then," Wheeljack said. "You see, there's a big bad Decepticon General here. Cyclonus. He's trying to play nice with us Autobots, reach an agreement, but I figure if he finds out you're here he'll probably try and kill you." He recited this all off matter-of-factly. Letting this 'Con know the score was the least he could do. "I'd tell you to get off Earth, but it looks like you're not in much of a position to do anything."

"Where else would I go?" Skystreaker asked. "I've got no ship. I might be able to fly, but space is big. I'd run out of energy before I got out of this system."

"Then it looks like you're here to stay," Wheeljack said.

"Yeah, it looks that way. You know, you're the second Autobot to stand out there and gloat."

Wheeljack's curiosity piqued when he heard this.

"The second?"

"The first one left a little while before you arrived. Told me he was going to get some rest."

"Deadeye?" Jack was the one to ask this, stepping forwards and catching the Decepticon's attention. Skystreaker looked down at him and nodded.

"That's him," she said.

Wheeljack turned to Jack. There were some questions buzzing about in his mind that he wanted answered.

"Jack, again, who's Deadeye?" He realised his tone sounded a bit too forceful, but he was getting a bit tired of all the secrets when it came to anything relating to Carver's Taskforce. "He's an Autobot, isn't he? I figured as much, with a name like that."

"I promised him I wouldn't tell any other Autobot about him being here," Jack said. He sounded disappointed, more in himself than anyone else. "I'm a man of my word, Wheeljack. He's a good guy. He made it pretty clear why he wants to be left alone."

"And he lives here?" This compound looked fairly mundane from the outside. That was probably intentional. Still, it did not seem like the sort of place an Autobot would want to live in, of all things.

"Pretty much."

"And he gets to fight 'Cons?"

"Sometimes. Why?"

Wheeljack nodded. An idea was forming in his head, one that he might not have normally considered but circumstances had changed, especially since the war had ended.

"Is the Colonel hiring?" He asked Jack. The human gave him a funny look. "I'm serious. I need some excitement back in my life. If I can live here and fight 'Cons I'd be doing more good than if I stayed on Cybertron."

Skystreaker scoffed loudly from inside the detainment area.

"You're going to live with the fleshlings?" Her tone was dismissive. "I'd expect better from a Wrecker."

"It's all in the name, sweet-spark," Wheeljack said as he turned back to her. The beams of blue energy over the doorway rippled sporadically, casting an eerie neon glow on the floor at either side. "And I'm not doing much 'wrecking' back on Cybertron. If this Deadeye guy can stay here and hunt down 'Cons, then I figure he could use some help."

"You might want to meet Deadeye first," Jack suggested. "I don't think he'd take too kindly to another Autobot being here. I think he sees himself as more of a 'one-man show'."

"That much we have in common already." Wheeljack may have been acting a bit brash, but the opportunity of staying here and being able to better utilise his combat skills was one he would not pass up. It made sense, to leave a detachment of Autobots here with the humans who were working to defend Earth. It was something he would probably have to ask Ultra Magnus about, as much as he disliked having to report everything to that particular Autobot. Even so, there was still the matter of the Colonel and the Captain. Working with them did not strike him as very appealing. It was the actual work itself that had caught his attention.


	13. Disciple

**Disciple**

Deadeye was having some difficulty getting to sleep, or as it was probably more accurately known, 'recharge'. Cybertronians dreamed much in the same way humans did, a means for their subconscious to make sense of the day's events in its own abstract way. Deadeye's most recent dreams had not been pleasant ones and so he sat on the edge of his oversized metal bunk, alone in the small but adequately sized room the Taskforce had given him. It was a mostly metal building, with a few windows near the ceiling and a sliding door large enough for him to walk through. There was room for him to transform and a rack nearby where he had placed his pistols, including the older one he had taken from Skystreaker. He did not trust that Decepticon, deserter or not. That, and he had seen right through her seductive facade. There was a frightened youngster underneath, no doubt left in a situation that was far beyond what she would normally be able to cope with.

Deadeye had his gaze set on the television set across the room from where he sat. He was flicking through channels, although the human-sized television remote was far from practical for his large metal hands. As a result, he had been able to key his comms systems into the antenna and could flick through channels by altering the tuning on his very own comms. It was not as if any other Cybertronian was going to contact him through them.

As the channels flicked on by, Deadeye's mind wandered.

_"–secrets, cover-ups, corruption; you think you know the whole story, _think again–"

He flicked to the next one, the images from his latest dream playing in his mind. He paid the television set only the barest amount of attention.

_"–and in world news, the President of Carbombia survived an assassination attempt earlier today–"_

Again, he flicked over to the next channel. He could see the ruins of Crystal City in his mind's eye, yet he could not see himself. He could not remember being there, yet at the same time, he had. What had happened to him to make him forget so much?

_"–I don't deal with psychos, I put them away–"_

There he was, in one of the seedier establishments in Kaon. A few very friendly Decepticon females were in close proximity. Why would he be there? He could not remember for the life of him what had brought him to that place. Yet he saw these things in his dreams, over and over again. He changed channels once more.

_"–Coming up next, the classic eighties cult film _'Miami Connection'_–"_

Deadeye rose to his feet and walked over to the rack of weapons near his berth. He picked up Skystreaker's blaster, spinning it around in one hand, doing his best to distract himself from the uncertain thoughts that danced about in his mind. His dreams of late had left him with doubts he could not so easily shake, giving him more reason to immerse himself in human entertainment. He had always considered himself a loner, it came naturally to him. He had never played well with others.

He swivelled around then, stopping to face the door to the building whilst he raised the blaster. The door slid open and an Autobot about his height but with broad shoulders and a mostly white finish stepped inside. He eyed the blaster pointed his way carefully before looking towards Deadeye.

"You know, I don't like it when people point guns at me," the Autobot said. Deadeye noticed the Autobot logo on his chest, emblazoned there in bright red. He had narrow grey fins at his back and shorter ones either side of his head. The hilts of two swords jutted from his upper back, both weapons sheathed.

"Who the hell are you?" Deadeye lowered the blaster.

The Autobot slid the door closed behind him as he walked inside.

"I'm Wheeljack," he said. "You must be Deadeye." He took a look around the somewhat bare room, the only notable objects being the television, the gun rack and the computer terminal in the far corner.

"You're an Autobot."

"So are you." Wheeljack nodded towards the Autobot logo set in the centre of Deadeye's chest in a shiny blue colour. "I hear you've been doing work for these Taskforce people."

"Yeah. What's it to you?" Deadeye had not met another Autobot in person for a long time. For one to simply stroll into his home was not what he had been expecting. He wondered how closely connected Wheeljack was to the main Autobot group, the one that was currently on Cybertron attempting to rebuild the ruined world. He hoped this was not some attempt to convince him to go there.

"I'm just curious, is all," Wheeljack replied. He stopped a short distance in front of him. "You do a lot around here? Or do you just watch TV all day?"

"I do what I can," Deadeye said. "Again, _Wheeljack_, what's it to you? Why are you here?" He paused briefly, thinking over what to add. "I've no interest in going back to Cybertron. That place is dead. Here, I'm comfortable. The humans give me energon and they give me work to do."

"Sounds real nice," Wheeljack said, although he did not sound very convinced. However, what he said next did surprise Deadeye somewhat. "You're kind of right about Cybertron, you know. The chief's doing what he can to bring back order, but it's a lot of work. We even have some Decepticons helping us out."

"Really?" Deadeye frowned. "Who's the 'chief'?"

"Ultra Magnus."

"Huh." Deadeye knew of the Autobot Commander. He also had no desire to meet him, as past interactions with that particular Autobot had resulted in the pair not being on very good terms. "He's the big boss now, is he?"

"I don't think he likes the work." Wheeljack gave a half smirk. "Neither do I. That's kind of why I'm here."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Deadeye narrowed his optics. First impressions counted for a lot and he was yet to be impressed by this Wheeljack character. He racked his memories for anything relating to him, as he was sure he had seen the Autobot's face somewhere before. It must have been a long time ago, since he could not place the face to any specific memory no matter how hard he thought about it. The name did seem vaguely familiar, if only to compound this issue.

"I might have heard of you," Deadeye said, uncertain.

"I'm a Wrecker." Wheeljack might have carried the slightest hint of pride in his voice, though it was gone very quickly. "Probably more like a 'Builder' now."

"You sound disappointed."

"It's been nine years since the fighting stopped. I thought the change would be a good one, but I just..." He trailed off, losing himself in thought. "I don't know."

"You feel like you don't belong," Deadeye said. He understood this sentiment all too well. "You feel like your talents would be put to better use on the battlefield, instead of on a construction site." Wheeljack's optics lightened up noticeably as he spoke. "That's how I felt, Wheeljack. That's part of why I came here."

"How did you get here, anyway?" Wheeljack sounded genuinely curious. "Didn't you get the call to go back to Cybertron?"

"I got it," Deadeye answered. "But I was already on my way here. My ship, an Autobot scouter, was having engine difficulty and I ended up crashing on Earth. I got some bad injuries, enough to put me in stasis lock for a while." He could remember the crash, but his memories beyond that were a bit jumbled. He had figured that this had been enough to mess up some of his older memories, probably even form part of the cause of the dreams he had been having lately. "Colonel Carver's people found me, helped get me back on my feet."

"And you work for them now?"

"Yeah."

"And it's nice work, huh?"

"Yeah." Deadeye knew that Wheeljack was looking for alternatives to his current lifestyle. "But I've always seen myself as more of a 'one-bot show'. I don't work too well with others."

"Humans?"

"Humans I have no problem with," Deadeye replied. "It's other Autobots I have difficulty with. I can understand how you feel, but I don't think the Taskforce needs another Autobot in its ranks. They get along fine as is. You should see some of the anti-Decepticon stuff they've been deploying out in the field."

Wheeljack nodded. He seemed to understand. His confident demeanour indicated some degree of cockiness, and judging from his sentiments it would appear that he shared a similar 'loner' attitude to Deadeye. However, Wheeljack beared some of the signs of having mellowed out from this attitude somewhat, likely through working with other Autobots on Cybertron. The fact that he had no snarky comments regarding Ultra Magnus was one implication.

"What's with the swords?" Deadeye asked, referring to the pair that Wheeljack carried at his back. The Autobot Wrecker pulled one out, holding it out so that the light from the ceiling glimmered along its length. "You seriously run into battle with something that archaic?"

Wheeljack looked insulted.

"This 'archaic' weapon could cleave you in two," he said. He spun the weapon about in his hand fluidly, his expertise apparent. "I've lost count of how many 'Cons I've brought down with this."

"The humans here have a saying," Deadeye countered. He held out the blaster and spun it around in one hand, back-and-forth. Wheeljack watched his movements closely, keeping a straight-face as he did. "Never bring a knife to a gunfight."

"You sure you can handle that piece, kid?" Wheeljack raised an optic ridge inquisitively. "Or you been watching too many of those human 'Westerns'?"

"I could shoot that blade out of your hands from a hundred metres," Deadeye said. "What would you do then, Wheeljack? When your weapon of choice is a melted puddle of steel?"

Wheeljack used his free-hand to pull out his other sword.

"I always carry another," he said.

Deadeye stepped over to his gun rack and put the blaster away before taking down both his personal side-arms. He turned to face Wheeljack again, spinning both around in his hands as he did so.

"You sure you could handle two?" Deadeye eyed Wheeljack carefully, awaiting the inevitable response.

"Can you?"

Both Autobots watched each other with narrowed gazes. Deadeye found himself enjoying this budding rivalry. Then again, it had been a while since he had interacted with another Autobot.

"Do you give any real thought to where you place yourself on the battlefield?" Deadeye asked. "Or do you just rush in? You don't seem the patient type."

"I like to get things done."

"If I were to place myself in the position with the least probability of receiving accurate weapons fire, do you think you would be able to get to me with those swords of yours?" The question was a serious one. Wheeljack looked a bit confused for a moment.

"What are you talking about?"

"I didn't get as I good as I am without doing a lot of research," Deadeye said. "I've studied fire-fights from the war and from the humans. In the end, it comes down to statistics. What positions are the least likely to receive accurate enemy fire? Where will the hostiles be located? I've got that shit all figured out, Wheeljack. You'd do well to do the same."

"Uh-huh." Wheeljack sheathed both his swords, his face a sceptical one. "You know, you're really full of shit."

"Not at all. I just do what I have to do to survive. I'm sure you can understand."

Wheeljack remained unconvinced of Deadeye's combat skills. The feeling was mutual, as Deadeye found it hard to believe that a sword-wielding Autobot would be any good on the modern battlefield. Archaic weapons might have had some degree of style to them, but no amount of style would enhance their effectiveness.

"If you're serious about working for the Taskforce, you would have to speak with Colonel Carver," Deadeye said. "And like I said, I'm more of a 'one-bot show'. I don't need help from you, of all Autobots, to do my job here." He thought he might have spoken a bit harshly, but if so, Wheeljack did not appear bothered by it.

"I'll think about it," the Wrecker replied. "Anyway, it was, uh, nice meeting you. I guess." He did not sound entirely serious about this last sentence. He turned around and walked for the door, pulling it open before stepping outside. Deadeye watched him leave, noting that he did not slide the door shut behind him, as he apparently lacked the common courtesy to do so. The younger Autobot stepped forwards and did this himself, glimpsing Wheeljack as he crossed the narrow road outside and headed for one of the larger hangar structures.

_He'll be back,_ Deadeye thought. With that, he slid the door shut and turned his attention towards the television set.

* * *

"I just got a call from one of the President's aides," Fowler said. He stood on the ledge outside his office, looking over to Ultra Magnus who had been standing nearby. "He wants to renew the treaty as soon as possible. It's a formality, but the bureaucrats who run this country like to make things official through paperwork."

The hangar that served as Unit-E headquarters was quiet. Knock Out had fallen asleep in the far corner, spread out on a bench with his arms either side and one leg dangling off of the edge. As for Ultra Magnus, he had been waiting for Bumblebee's return. The Autobot Commander had found himself worried when Bumblebee's signal had dropped off of the monitors here, only for that worry to dissipate when that signal returned a short while later.

"Does that mean your President will be paying us a visit?" Ultra Magnus asked.

"At about one o'clock in the afternoon," Fowler said. He sounded tired, understandable given the early hour. It was still dark outside and Fowler, from what Ultra Magnus could tell, had fallen asleep in his office before the phone call had woke him up. "They want this matter wrapped up discreetly, as you can understand. We can't have you going to the White House. That'd probably cause a panic."

Ultra Magnus found the need for secrecy that these humans had oddly amusing, but understandable. The general human population did not need to know about the existence of the Autobots and their enemies. It seemed like it was for the best

"I'd like to get it out of the way myself," Ultra Magnus said. "With it done, we can focus properly on Cyclonus. I'd like to know what he's up to, if anything."

"So do I," Fowler added. "I'd like him to get the hell off of Earth in the meantime. But something tells me that's not going to happen."

The hangar doors partially slid open then, groaning audibly as they moved. Both Fowler and Ultra Magnus looked towards them, laying eyes upon Bumblebee who worked his way through the narrow gap he had pushed open. He strolled into the hangar, business as usual. Ultra Magnus stepped towards him.

"Bumblebee, you've returned," Ultra Magnus said. "Your signal dropped off our monitors for a while. What happened?"

Bumblebee stopped before the Autobot Commander, looking up at him from his relatively smaller statue.

"Cyclonus' ship vanished off my scanners," he said. "I followed it halfway across Nevada before it must have activated some kind of dark matter drive. It might have shot itself into orbit, I couldn't get a good look. Whatever it did, it scrambled my sensors in the process. That's probably why my signal dropped off the monitors here." He shrugged then, his optics moving to glance over at Fowler, who watched the pair from his ledge nearby. He then looked over to Knock Out, who had rolled over on the bench he had taken to resting on, his optics closed tightly.

"Where's Wheeljack?" Bumblebee asked.

"He's gone off to do his own thing, apparently," Ultra Magnus answered. He did not bother to hide the disdain in his voice. "He even shut off his comms. I was beginning to think you'd done something similar."

"Me? Huh. I always do as I'm told, sir." Bumblebee smiled broadly. It was an oddly unnerving smile, Ultra Magnus found. "If there's nothing else for me to do, sir, I'd like to get some rest. The drive was a long one and I could do with a recharge."

"Go ahead. You'll have to find somewhere else to sleep, since Knock Out's already claimed the only berth in the building." He nodded in the direction of the dozing former Decepticon. Bumblebee rolled his large optics and walked by, going for one of the far corners of the hangar.

"That reminds me," Fowler said. "I think I'll try to get back to sleep myself. Tomorrow, well..." He checked the watch he wore at his left wrist and frowned. "Well, it's technically 'tomorrow' already, but that means it'll be an even longer day than I thought it would be." He glanced over to Ultra Magnus. "You must be tired of all the waiting around."

"It's part of the job, Agent Fowler," Ultra Magnus said. "It took a lot of patience to get to where I am now."

"Do they have government bureaucrats back on Cybertron?"

"Yes, they do. And they're just as irritating there as the human ones you've got here." Ultra Magnus said this drily, getting a short chuckle out of Fowler in response.

"Some things are universal," Fowler commented.

Ultra Magnus nodded in agreement. Their two species did have plenty in common, despite their obvious differences.

* * *

Bumblebee had been alone in a darkened room for some time. That is, the _real_ Bumblebee and not the Decepticon who had taken his form. The real Bumblebee had woken up a short while ago, finding himself in a dimly lit chamber with grey metal walls that carried distinctly Decepticon architecture, with the angled curves and pylons that had been an aspect of the interior aboard the _Nemesis_.

He was strapped upon a metal rack, his arms and legs bound in place by energon-powered restraints. The bloodied stump where his right forearm had been ached tremendously, although someone had sealed off the energon leak there. They had done it crudely, cauterising it closed somehow. Still, it ensured that the young Autobot would not pass out anytime soon. It also indicated that his captives wanted him to remain alive, something that Bumblebee found disconcerting at best. What would they want him for, beyond the obvious torture he knew would come? What did he know that they wanted from him?

It did not take long to realise just how much he could tell them. A pack of Decepticons, lead by someone like Cyclonus, could do an awful lot of damage if they wanted to. Bumblebee knew of Cybertron's defences, for one. If they forced that out of him they could strike against that planet with a very thorough knowledge of what they would be up against. There were a number of things that they could do to him. They would not even need to interrogate him, he realised; a cortical psychic patch would give them everything they wanted.

There was a door across the room from him. To his left, there was a monitor that displayed his vital signs. To his right, a metal bench with a variety of surgical implements spread across it. All shined in the dim light emanating from the fixture above, all of them carrying the sheen of a recently sterilised implement. To say Bumblebee did not like the look of his predicament was an understatement. Even so, fear was something he had been trained to control. Fear was a necessity for any sentient being, an element important to survival. That did not make it any more pleasant.

He lay his head back on the metal headrest behind him. Interrogation was another thing he had been trained to withstand. Of course, no amount of training could properly prepare someone for the real thing. He took a breath and gritted his metal teeth, teasing the energon bindings at his legs and his one good arm. They were tight, perhaps more so than was necessary, pressing him firmly against the rack. His captors did not want him getting out. They knew better than to underestimate him.

At that moment, the door ahead slid open with a hiss. Bumblebee looked towards the two figures who entered, both Cybertronians. One was short and thin, mostly purple in colour like most Decepticons. He carried a black trim and had a pair of bright red optics set upon an almost emotionless face. His mouth was concealed underneath a steel plate. Despite his lanky appearance, he had a fairly large chest, one that was spattered with dried energon stains. One of his legs appeared stiff, giving him an uneven, limping gait. Bumblebee glanced down to see a very poorly patched over wound at his left shin, a gaping hole that had been torn in at some point in the past before having a steel plate literally nailed over it. He looked back up at the Decepticon's face and realised, whilst doing his best to contain his horror, that this particular Decepticon was the resident 'doctor'.

_I didn't think I'd ever wish for Knock Out to be here,_ Bumblebee thought, absently. His attention went to the second figure who had strode inside, the larger and far more imposing Cybertronian who had stopped a few metres ahead of him. This one was tall and broad-shouldered, carrying a similar build to Ultra Magnus. His head even carried a similar crest. His finish was a deep reddish-brown, mingled with silver at his less protected joints and he carried a red trim at his arms and legs. Bumblebee had to do a double-take, for his optics fell upon the Autobot insignia in the centre of his chest, its orange colour standing out starkly against the deep-red of finish. The blue optics of this Autobot were narrow, almost leering at him with what Bumblebee could only assume was hatred. His mouth was concealed under a metal battle-plate. His general demeanour, stoic yet exuding confidence, indicated that he held some amount of power here. Bumblebee had been expecting Cyclonus to walk in.

"Doctor," the Autobot said, looking over to the slim Decepticon. The 'doctor' in question turned to face him. "I do not want you to do anything drastic with our prisoner, regardless of what the General may have said." The Autobot spoke in a level tone, with very careful and precise enunciation.

The Decepticon 'doctor' shrugged.

"Don't you want to find out what he's thinking?" The doctor held up one end of the cortical psychic patch cable.

"We can do that anytime," the Autobot replied. He did not take his optics away from Bumblebee. Stepping forwards, he tilted his head slightly as he regarded the Autobot. "You must be wondering who I am."

"Yeah," Bumblebee said. He realised his voice sounded alarmingly weak, a fact that was probably not helping his case much. "Didn't think I'd see an Autobot in with these Decepticons."

"As the times change, one must adapt," the Autobot said. "I am not surprised that you are unfamiliar with me. Most of you degenerate young ones care not for the past. This much is clear."

Bumblebee was a bit confused by the statement but said nothing.

"My name is Star Saber. I am, or more precisely, _was_ a pontiff of the Church of the Thirteen. Long before the war began, the Cybertronian people were guided by faith, their society a moral and ordered one. I was studying the works of the first thirteen Primes long before you were ever born." Though he did not spell it out, his disdain for the young Autobot was very much obvious. Bumblebee had not heard of this 'Church', nor had he ever heard of Star Saber. What troubled him in particular was how an Autobot was willingly working with the Decepticons. Traitors had been uncommon during the war and were usually despised by both sides, regardless of what their original allegiance had been.

"And then the decay set in. The amount of those who followed the faith waned over time. Our society became decadent, immoral, _degenerate_. It was no surprise, to me at least, that the war broke out. In fact, I had been expecting it to happen sooner. The humans of this world, they have had similar things happen throughout their history. Great civilisations that fell apart, not because of outside forces, but through suicide. And in many cases, the lack of faith, and the order it brings, has been the cause." He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. "Now our civilisation is all but gone. There are certainly pathetic attempts being made to reconstruct it now, on Cybertron, but that would do us no good without the moral guidance that the Church would bring. History will repeat itself. I intend to prevent that."

"By working with Cyclonus?"

"We have a mutual agreement," Star Saber replied. He glanced at Bumblebee's stump of a right arm. "Cyclonus wanted you dead, but I persuaded him otherwise. You are, in my eyes, part of the problem with our species now. Young, impressionable, yet without faith. Prone to partaking in degenerate actions."

"I have faith," Bumblebee countered. "Faith in my friends. Faith in Optimus..."

"Optimus Prime is dead. The age of the Primes is over. And that is a tragedy in itself. The Church of the Thirteen would have sung that Prime's praises for generations to come, were it not for the fact that he started the war and ruined Cybertron by sending the Allspark into space. Optimus Prime was no better than the rulers who plunged our society into decadence, he simply brought about the end through a far more blunt fashion."

"That's all fixed now-"

"You are mistaken. The lack of faith is the largest issue here. The Church brought order, a moral foundation for Cybertronian society. One that was eaten away by the selfish, greedy rulers who sent our world to destruction. And the same will happen again, even more quickly this time since virtually none of those who are currently residing on Cybertron follow the true faith. Without a Prime to guide us, a _true_ Prime, one who would spread the teachings of the Church like it was in the old times, our entire civilisation will fall apart and will likely remain a ruin."

It had not taken long for Bumblebee to realise he was speaking to a religious zealot. _It's no wonder no one follows their Church anymore._

"What do you want from me?" Bumblebee asked. He did not allow his fear to seep into his voice, even if it had been building up significantly during the last few minutes.

"Everything." There was a sinister look in his optics, although the rest of his face remained stoic. "Nothing. I wish for you to see the error of your ways. To embrace the true faith and to renounce these 'friends' of yours as the atheist degenerates they are. They are part of the problem."

"And the Decepticons here? Do they follow your 'faith'?" Bumblebee managed a look over at the doctor. He had picked up one of the nastier looking implements, a pair of razor sharp clamps that he was currently giving a once-over. He tested them, clicking them open-and-shut a few times, apparently satisfied with their performance.

"Some do. Some do not. At this point, it does not matter. Soon, the reckoning will come. You should pity your friends, for they do not have the opportunity you do to repent." Star Saber put a hand to Bumblebee's stump of a right arm. "And maybe I may even have the doctor here build you a new arm."

"You really think I'll do everything you say?" Bumblebee looked at Star Saber in disbelief.

"No, I expect the opposite." He nodded over to the Decepticon doctor, who moved closer to Bumblebee and set the clamps upon one of the plates at his chest.

"And, honestly, I want you to resist," Star Saber added. "It makes for far greater entertainment."


	14. Lone Gunman

**Lone Gunman**

It was the early hours of the morning when Knock Out finally woke up. His back ached, as the bench he had rested upon had been far from comfortable. Given the fact that there was only one in the hangar, he assumed that it was likely this particular spot had been used by Ratchet. It was probably no surprise that the Autobot medic had no problem sleeping on something _that_ hard.

Sunlight streamed in through the windows up near the ceiling. Knock Out climbed off of the bench and found himself alone in the hangar. Ultra Magnus was probably elsewhere on the base doing whatever it was he did in his spare time. Bumblebee was gone and the former Decepticon had no idea where he could have went. _Probably off visiting his human friends,_ he thought. That thought made Knock Out realise that he had no real friends here. He could hardly call Ultra Magnus a 'friend'. He was certain that the Autobot Commander still did not trust him completely. That was understandable, even if it had been nine years since Knock Out's defection.

His stay on Earth had so far been, as far as he could tell, a waste of time. His talents had been wasted here and the most interesting thing he had done so far was browse the internet. At least with that, he had been able to catch up on some of the things he had missed during his absence, most prominently the human horror movies he had developed a liking for.

The 'negotiation' with Cyclonus had been a fairly awkward and ultimately fruitless endeavour. He would make it a point to nag Ultra Magnus to be allowed to return to Cybertron. If he got on the Autobot Commander's nerves enough, he might be allowed to leave. Earth had its charms, certainly, but one could hardly enjoy the planet when they were stuck on a military base. That was also something he would have to ask Ultra Magnus about. Perhaps he would allow him the opportunity to go for a drive, actually see the sights? And here Knock Out had been expecting to enjoy the change of scenery from Cybertron. After all, Wheeljack had been able to go off an do his own thing. It seemed typical that if he did the same he would probably get in more trouble for it.

_What's Magnus going to do, anyway? Give me a stern talking to?_ He made his decision then: he would be going for a drive.

He strolled across the hangar floor, making his way for the large double doors. They were partially slid open, giving him a large enough gap to fit through. Outside, there were some soldiers on patrol and a jet fighter had started to shift into position at the far end of the runway ahead. Its engines whined loudly while a human waved at the pilot, directing him into the proper position. None of the soldiers here paid much attention to Knock Out, they had seen Cybertronians before after all. The Decepticon could easily imagine what would happen if he strolled around like this in a public place. The thought of causing a panic with his sheer presence was an amusing one, the sort of thing he would have expected to get a chance to do back in his Decepticon days. Looking back on that now, he was glad he had made the choice to change sides when he did. Things had gone downhill very quickly for the Decepticons after that. Knock Out could vividly remember stumbling across Starscream's dismembered corpse a short while after Optimus Prime's sacrifice. Part of him had been almost saddened by such a loss, whereas the rest of him had been almost pleased to finally be rid of that snivelling weasel. They had not even bothered to bury him and Knock Out had instead taken it upon himself to dispose of the Decepticon Lieutenant's remains. Throwing them into a trash compactor had seemed a fitting end for Starscream.

Knock Out started along the hangar, catching a glimpse of Bumblebee as he disappeared around the corner ahead. Knock Out followed, leaning around the corner and watching as the scout strolled between the buildings. He found himself curious as to where the young Autobot was headed, so he followed him at a distance. Bumblebee kept between the buildings, sticking to the narrow lanes that ran between the hangars. No humans milled about here. Bumblebee finally made his way to one of the side-gates of the compound. There, he transformed and drove up to the gate. Knock Out watched him from the shadow of one of the squat buildings across the road from the gate. The soldiers standing guard allowed him through and Bumblebee started speeding down the road beyond, heading out into the desert.

Knock Out followed and made sure to switch off his comms. He had no desire to have Ultra Magnus interrupting his drive. He transformed and approached the gate. One of the soldiers gave him a once over, referring to a poster on the wall of the guardhouse where the vehicle modes of each of them were displayed in photographic form. The guard waved him through, with another opening the gate. Knock Out made his way through, glimpsing Bumblebee speeding along far in the distance. Out here, the rays of the sun beared down relentlessly, reflecting off of the tarmac and heating up his underside slightly more so than he was comfortable with.

The drive lasted for about half an hour. He kept Bumblebee at the edge of his scanners, amused to find the good little Autobot disobeying orders by leaving the base like this. Ultra Magnus would probably give both of them a 'stern talking to' when they got back.

Knock Out was surprised when, along the remote desert highway, Bumblebee suddenly turned off-road. Either side of the highway was nothing but desert and dry, scattered vegetation. Knock Out slowed down, keeping track of the scout as he sped across the sand, kicking up a thick plume of it in his wake. He disappeared over some small hills and Knock Out, his curiosity once again piqued, started to follow after him.

_Where could he be going?_ Knock Out would not have normally wasted his time following around this particular Autobot, but something about the situation had struck him as peculiar. Driving off-road did not make for an especially smooth ride and he found himself being knocked about as his wheels crossed numerous slight dips and rocks on the ground beneath. His wheels had some difficulty gaining traction on the sandy hill ahead, something he knew should not have come as a surprise as sports cars were not exactly equipped for off-road driving. It took him some effort to get over, kicking up a massive stream of sand behind him as he went. Beyond was a small, dry lakebed and Bumblebee, who stood close to the centre of it in full robot form. He had his back turned and was kneeling down, his hands digging through the dirt.

Knock Out stopped at the edge of the lake-bed and emerged from vehicle mode, flexing his arms as he did so. He watched Bumblebee curiously, the Autobot seemingly oblivious to his arrival. _What on Earth was he looking for?_

"Bumblebee," Knock Out called. "What are you doing out here? Looking for buried treasure?"

Bumblebee stopped digging. From the small hole he had dug, he retrieved a long, chrome metal case that caught the sunlight noticeably. Knock Out started walking towards him, intent on seeing what exactly it was that Bumblebee had dug up. Bumblebee had apparently been well aware of it being out here.

"Buried treasure? Huh, I guess you could call it that," Bumblebee replied. His voice sounded different then, at least for the first two words of the sentence. Then it shifted audibly into Bumblebee's usual voice, as if he had momentarily lost control of his voice-box. The yellow warrior put both hands to the case and pulled it open. Knock Out could not see what was within from behind him and so continued to walk ahead before he stopped several metres behind the Autobot. He watched as Bumblebee pulled something out of it, long and metal.

"What's that?" Knock Out asked.

"See for yourself," Bumblebee answered. He swivelled around quickly then, revealing the large rifle he had gripped in his hands. It was a Cybertronian design, with a long barrel that glowed with a deep blue light. He had the rifle to his shoulder and one finger on the trigger. Knock Out was startled by the sight, as well as confused, though this confusion quickly gave way to fear when he saw what Bumblebee was about to do.

"Wait..." Was this some sort of bizarre payback for his past? Knock Out had no idea, nor did he get an opportunity to ask. Bumblebee fired and a large, swirling bolt of blue energy shot out of the weapon's barrel. It left a swirling vapour trail behind it, one that dissipated quickly as the bolt travelled at lightning speed. The shot connected with Knock Out's chest, hitting him close to the left shoulder. Burning pain shot through him and the concussive force of the blast was enough to knock him backwards. Fire and smoke plumed out of the impact area and his entire left arm burned incredibly. He became aware of the stench of melted metal and glanced towards his arm. Much of the metal plating there had warped, revealing the far more sensitive protoform underneath. The red car door that had been at his forearm had been reduced to a mess of distorted, silver slag that dribbled off of his arm, smoke wafting from it. A hole had been blown in his chest and his free-hand wandered over to it. He became aware that a few very sensitive internal parts had become exposed.

He also realised, with a mix of horror and confusion, that he was quickly losing his strength. The world swayed around him and Bumblebee, his unexpected murderer, had stepped into view above. He looked down at Knock Out impassively, his large blue optics without any hint of emotion.

_Am I dying?_ It certainly felt that way. Bumblebee started speaking into his comms. For some reason Knock Out could not hear him or anything else for that matter. Darkness appeared at the edges of his vision, slowly creeping forth until Bumblebee and the sky behind him had vanished. The darkness swallowed him up then, providing welcome relief from the pain that had been wracking his body. 

* * *

The nature of the meeting was hasty at best. The bureaucrats wanted to get the matter of the Treaty out of the way, especially in light of the situation involving Cyclonus. Agent Fowler stood upon a helicopter landing pad with Ultra Magnus standing a short distance to his right. The Autobot Commander had his hands clasped behind his back, looking stoic as he so often did. Fowler had changed into a clean suit, albeit a duplicate of the one he had worn yesterday during the 'negotiation' with Cyclonus. About twenty soldiers stood nearby, all standing to attention with their rifles slung over their shoulders. This meeting with the Commander-in-Chief would be a brief one, as he had another meeting with some UN diplomats halfway across the country later this evening. The Autobot-Human Alliance Treaty was a formality, a secretive one at that. The general population certainly had no idea that the government was in cahoots with a bunch of alien robots. Fowler had often thought about how lucky he was, to have been given this job. Thinking about that now, standing out here in the unrelenting heat of the Nevada desert, only made his imminent retirement all the more irksome. Granted, he was certainly getting a bit old for this sort of work. He did not always have to put himself in harm's way, not so much since the war with the Decepticons had ended (in most regards), but his superiors had made it clear they wanted someone new running Unit-E. That, and General Williamson did not like him much.

On the matter of the General, he was supposed to be here. Robert Williamson was not someone who was normally late. He was apparently going through an unpleasant divorce, but that did not seem like something that would stop him from coming here for this particular meeting. It was not often that the President himself paid a visit to a place like this. Although, in the case of the Autobots, a secure military base in the middle of nowhere was the best place to meet them. No prying eyes out here.

"Where's Bumblebee?" Fowler asked. He glanced over to Ultra Magnus, who gave a slight frown in response.

"He should be here," Ultra Magnus said. "Regardless, it's not a problem. I hear your President always wanted to meet me. One Commander-in-Chief to another."

"Yeah, but I think it'd look good if Bumblebee was here," Fowler said. "I mean, he's the one who killed Megatron. Temporarily, anyway." Fowler used one sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow, only to leave a rather noticeable wet patch upon the sleeve in question. Grey suits could be like that, as any stains or marks were far more noticeable upon the lighter colour than on your typical black or navy-blue suit jacket. "There's that, he's a cuter face for the whole thing." Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics into a scowl. "No offence, Magnus. I figure if we ever went public with this stuff, Bumblebee's face would probably end up the one going on the PR material. Cutesy big eyes go down well with the kids."

The quick _chop-chop_ of helicopter blades could be heard. In the distance, coming in high over the hills beyond the base's perimeter, a trio of helicopters appeared. One was green in colour, with the Presidential seal on its sides. It was a large transport helicopter and likely came with luxuries most helicopters lacked. The other two were smaller blue helicopters, carrying most of the secret service escort.

Ultra Magnus turned around, looking back down the railway. His optics lit up.

"Bumblebee's coming," he said. Fowler followed his gaze and watched as the yellow Autobot in question strode into view upon the railway. He saw that the Autobot was carrying something, long and silver, but at this distance Fowler could not properly make out what it was.

The escort helicopters began to descend, landing upon the empty ground either side of the helipad. Men in black suits and sunglasses emerged from each, their jackets billowing in the breeze, the bulletproof vests they wore underneath fairly obvious. As for the Presidential helicopter, it began to descend upon the helipad. Fowler watched it expectantly, his heart pounding in his chest. It was an honour to meet the current President in person. He glanced over to Ultra Magnus, who was still watching Bumblebee.

"Magnus," Fowler said. "Eyes forward. The boss is about to land."

Ultra Magnus did not turn around. He continued to watch Bumblebee, who in turn continued to stroll closer to the helipad. Fowler once again followed his gaze and watched, with some confusion, as Bumblebee raised the rather large rifle he had been carrying. Around them, sand whipped around them as the helicopter's spinning blades sent forth a gusting, circular breeze.

"Bumblebee," Ultra Magnus shouted. Bumblebee replied by shooting at him, the large blue bolt of energy striking the ground only metres ahead of where the Autobot Commander had been standing.

Fowler was dimly aware of things turning chaotic all around as the concussive force of the blast picked him up and threw him a few feet into the air. He landed painfully on the tarmac by the helipad, the back of his grey suit scorched thoroughly. Coming to rest on his back, he heard several rifles open fire all at once and men shouting. The helicopter above was the next thing to get blasted, the shot connecting with its front. Time seemed to slow down as he watched, though that may have been partly a result of the bump he had received to his head from the fall. The windshield of the helicopter quite literally melted from the heat of the shot, raining down pieces of searing hot glass that cooled almost immediately upon falling from above. The shot connected with the inside of the helicopter and the entire vehicle erupted into flames from within, fire blasting out of every window, showering even more glass down. The back end was the first thing to disconnect, torn away as the fuel tank detonated. Flames blossomed forth and a thunderous _crack_ sounded out. The chopper blades went flying off of the rest of the frame and the flaming hulk that had been the President's helicopter came crashing down unceremoniously upon the helipad, puking smoke and flame that ate away at the paint and sent the stink of burning fuel wafting throughout the area.

The soldiers nearby reacted quickly and Fowler, realising exactly what had happened, rolled onto his side and crawled for cover underneath the helipad. People were shouting and screaming around him, rifles were firing and he glanced Ultra Magnus lying on the tarmac ahead. He was slowly rising to his feet. Another shot from Bumblebee connected with the ground between the soldiers scattered nearby. Most of them went flying, some of them suddenly missing body parts. The explosion itself flared blue, sending up a rain of dirt and chunks of blacktop. Bumblebee fired the rifle again, placing a blast into one of the parked helicopters, one that was some distance behind Fowler. The whole thing exploded violently, knocking aside a few of the secret service men who had been near it. Fowler put a hand to his aching head, finding that it came back sticky with his blood.

The whole ordeal was over quickly. Bumblebee transformed, dumping the powerful rifle across both the driver and passenger seats in the process. He turned around and floored it, speeding down the runway while just about every soldier on the base started taking shots at him. An alarm began to sound and response crews began to emerge, with fire trucks and an ambulance speeding into view from another section of the base.

Ultra Magnus was on his feet, but swayed uncertainly upon them. His optics went searching for Bumblebee, but the young Autobot had disappeared around a corner, presumably barging through one of the gates. Fowler scrambled towards him. Ultra Magnus began to transform, taking his form as a large blue flatbed truck.

"Wait up!" Fowler shouted. He would be damned if he let the Autobot get away with what had just happened. A glance back at the helicopter wreckage was confirmation enough that no one had survived the explosion. Whatever Bumblebee's motives for this shockingly violent attack, he was going to be one of those who would bring him to justice.

The driver's side door opened and Fowler climbed inside before pulling it shut.

"I...I can't explain what happened," Ultra Magnus said, his voice emanating from the radio on the dashboard. He sounded understandably dumbfounded. "Bumblebee...You known him as well as I do. He'd never-" Fowler, his heart pounding and his head throbbing, felt a sudden and uncontrollable burst of anger. He slammed the dashboard angrily.

"Damn it, Magnus," Fowler barked. "Stop wasting time and go after Bee!"

Ultra Magnus complied, flooring the accelerator, sending the truck speeding down the runway. Fowler doubted speeding away from the scene of the crime would look good, but he sure as hell would not stay back. He would likely get dragged into some complicated and near continuous barrage of questions and answers from all manner of authorities as they looked into the incident. How would this fly on the six o'clock news? A thought came into his head then, one he was not too sure on.

_Disclosure._ That was the only option now. Would they seriously cover this one up? Something this massive could not be easily brushed under the carpet. And why should it? _This secrecy business was getting old,_ Fowler thought. Right now it felt like it had overstayed its welcome completely.

Ultra Magnus went speeding through a previously wrecked gate. On the display under the radio, Fowler watched as a map of the region appeared. He assumed that they were the green arrow on the map, whereas the yellow Autobot emblem represented Bumblebee. The young Autobot was far ahead of them, roaring down the desert highways at reckless speed. And then suddenly, his signal vanished off of the map.

"I've lost him," Ultra Magnus said. The frustration was clear in his voice. Fowler figured things would have been too easy if they had been able to simply track Bumblebee._ Things are never easy._

"Just keep going," Fowler said. He sat back in the seat, glancing at himself in the rear view mirror. There was a sizeable cut on his forehead and his face was covered with sweat and dirt. He reached into a pocket in his trousers and pulled out a handkerchief, using it to mop up the blood that had dribbled from the cut.

"I may be able to..."

_"Just keep going."_ Fowler repeated, his tone harsh. _Too harsh_, he figured, but he was not exactly in a positive state of mind right now. His heart was still pounding, hardly a good thing for a man of his age and of his weight. "Just find him, Magnus. That's all I ask."

"I refuse to believe that Bumblebee could be capable of this," Ultra Magnus said.

"That doesn't matter right now. We find him and we can get to the bottom of this." Fowler had no idea what to think. None of the Autobots had been violent like this. What Bumblebee had done was more akin to something he would expect from a Decepticon. _Decepticon brainwashing?_ Fowler thought. _Was Cyclonus behind this?_ Anything was possible. Until they could get some actual answers, it would all be just speculation.

Fowler closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His back was hurting too now.

"I'm getting too old for this shit," he muttered.


	15. Precautionary Measures

**Precautionary Measures**

Deadeye had spent much of the previous night watching television. It was not a new thing for him and he found that the plethora of channels that the cable and satellite connection provided offered him something worth watching at any time of the day. Still, he did slip into a recharge state in the very early hours of the morning, sometime after his conversation with Wheeljack. He was brought out of it by the sound of a male voice erupting from the base's PA system.

_"Deadeye, please report to Building Nine. I repeat, Deadeye please report to Building Nine."_

Deadeye slipped off of his bench and noticed that the television was still on. He had left it going all night. He switched it off before making his way outside, stepping into the warm morning air with the desert sun beaming down from high above. He crossed the compound, passing by some soldiers and personnel who were milling about on their daily business. Building Nine was the place where he spent most of his day hanging out when not being dragged along on any exercises with the troops here, or when not on actual missions. It was also where Jack Darby had his office. He approached the large double doors and pulled one of them open, walking into the relatively cool interior of the building. At the far end was where a larger television set and games console system was set-up, intended for his personal use. Colonel Carver was waiting there patiently, accompanied by Captain Van Cleef. Deadeye noticed Carver's serious expression and assumed, somewhat correctly, that an urgent matter had come up. He had grown accustomed to reading the Colonel, a man who managed a usually stoic exterior with only slight expression visible. Still, judging from the way Carver looked now, whatever had happened must have made for a very grave situation.

Carver watched the Autobot approach.

"Good morning, Deadeye," he said, looking up at him as Deadeye stopped a few metres ahead.

"Colonel." Deadeye glanced over to Captain Van Cleef, who had a somewhat more derisive look on his face. "You look like you woke up on the wrong side of bed, Captain."

Van Cleef frowned at him. He went to say something, likely an insult, but Carver spoke before he could. Sometimes Deadeye got the impression that Van Cleef did not like him, something he could not entirely understand as from what he could recall, he had done nothing 'bad' to the human and as such could see no reason why he would draw such blatant dislike from him.

"There is a situation, Deadeye," Carver said. "A grave one at that."

Carver's tone was certainly a grim one. In fact, Deadeye had never seen him looking quite this serious. Whatever had happened, it must have been a game-changer.

"What's going on?" Deadeye asked.

"About forty-five minutes ago, there was an incident at the Groom Lake Facility. Specifically, Unit-E headquarters."

Deadeye was certainly curious to hear what, so he said nothing and instead listened carefully.

"The President and a few of his staff arrived there with the intention of formalising a renewal of the Human-Autobot Alliance Treaty, as well as meet the Autobot leader, Ultra Magnus. However, his helicopter was shot down close to landing and the President, and everyone on board the helicopter, were killed." Carver spoke each word carefully. Deadeye knew the importance of the 'President', so the fact that he had apparently died was a worrisome one. He realised then that he might not get much opportunity from here on to watch the many movies he had recorded off of television in the past few days.

"Was it Decepticons?" Deadeye asked. They were the most obvious perpetrators. However, Carver shook his head in response.

"No," Carver said. "It was an Autobot. Bumblebee, to be more precise. He shot down the President's helicopter and killed those on board, as well as killed and wounded several soldiers and other personnel on the ground."

_The yellow one?_ Deadeye frowned. He could not really believe that an Autobot had been responsible for such an act, certainly not one he had heard so many good things about. Still, he had never actually met the Autobot in question, so he guessed anything was possible. He had no connection to Bumblebee, so why should he be surprised either way about what had happened?

"We will soon have surveillance footage of the whole incident," Carver continued. "I can send it to you if you wish, once it is in our possession. However, in response to this hostile act, the Taskforce and the rest of the military for that matter have been placed on high alert. We have no idea where Bumblebee has fled to, but I am sending out all available personnel to aid in the search. As for how this will be disclosed to the public..." He trailed off and then shook his head. After a pause while he considered what to add, he finally spoke again. "It is a delicate situation, one made even more so by your affiliation with us. Thing is, I'm not one to waste an asset like you. There is an alien outlaw on the loose, Deadeye. One of your own kind. And there are others, including one who spent the night here on the base."

"Wheeljack." Deadeye could see where this was going. Carver was a military leader, he had the security of his nation to worry about. That would mean making some tough decisions, the sort that might antagonise the wrong people, or place innocents in danger. Deadeye did not envy him for his job at all.

"The details of this attack will be disclosed to the public within the day," Carver continued. "Meanwhile, we need to bring in every Autobot we can find, and Decepticon for that matter. I need you to go and bring in Wheeljack. Both he and Agent Darby left the compound only a short time ago, but we have tracked them to a highway leading to Jasper. If you move now, you can intercept them."

"What do you mean 'bring in'?" Deadeye found the Colonel's choice of words odd. However, it soon hit him just what the Colonel's meaning really was.

"You want me to arrest him?" Deadeye shook his head. "I can't do that. I've no authority over him. Or any other Autobot. I don't think he'd take too kindly to being detained here."

"It is a precautionary measure," Carver replied. "Until we know more about this attack and the reasons behind it, every Autobot is a potential threat to this nation's security. Save for you, Deadeye. You are the only Cybertronian on this Earth whom we can trust." He sounded genuine. Deadeye would have felt flattered in any other situation. Here, it just sounded unsettling.

"You will have backup," Carver said. "Captain Van Cleef and about a dozen operatives with the appropriate equipment will follow you. If you need any more help, we can provide it. If Wheeljack is a genuine Autobot and ally to humanity, he will give himself up for questioning. If he resists-"

"He'll resist, all right," Deadeye interjected. His brief encounter with Wheeljack last night had told him everything he needed to know about that Autobot. Headstrong, confident, snarky and the very sort who would not willingly give themselves up for 'questioning', if only on principle. Pride was something Deadeye was all too familiar with.

"And that is why I'm sending you, with backup," Carver countered. "You will subdue him if necessary and bring him to the detainment area."

Deadeye could see that this would be a tricky thing to pull off. It was unlikely that Wheeljack was aware of what had happened at Unit-E headquarters. He probably would have left to rendezvous with the other Autobots otherwise, whether he was guilty of being part of the assassination or not. Deadeye wondered how news of all this would go down on Cybertron. Something told him some Autobots would not be too happy with the fact that a bunch of humans intended to detain their own. Carver was indeed correct about it being a 'delicate' situation.

"Are you sure about this, Colonel?" Deadeye asked. "This whole thing could blow up."

"It already has, as far as I'm concerned," Carver answered. His voice took on a sterner edge. He adjusted the collar of his jacket with one gloved hand and narrowed his eyes in the Autobot's direction. "The Autobots, or at the very least, _one_ of them, launched an attack that killed our nation's leader and several others. This is an act of war, Deadeye. Conflicts have erupted over less. So, I feel that it is best we get to the bottom of the matter as soon as possible. If Wheeljack is innocent of any hand in these events, so be it. We simply need to interrogate him, detain him to ensure that he can have no more part in what I believe is a terrorist conspiracy. For all we know, the Autobots could be planning an even larger scale attack." His voice took on a gradually more serious tone. "I like to think that Wheeljack is innocent, but in a situation like this we cannot take any chances."

"You really think..."

"I don't know what to think, Deadeye," Carver said. He gave a dismissive wave of one hand. "Right now we're working on speculation, nothing more. What happened today was an attack against not only this nation, but against the people of Earth. We must respond by taking any avenue we can in order to uncover the truth behind what really happened. If that means detaining innocent Autobots, then that's exactly what we'll do."

"I didn't come to Earth to be your policeman," Deadeye replied. He did not like where this was going, but he knew that deep down, he really would have no problem going along with it. Why should he? He was an Autobot in-name-only. Wheeljack he had only just met, whereas Bumblebee he had only heard word of through second-hand channels prior to coming to Earth. For all he knew, these Autobots were as capable and willing of launching an attack against Earth as the Decepticons were. Deadeye simply did not look forward to confronting Wheeljack.

"You should go and load up," Carver said. "You are likely correct in your assumption that Wheeljack will not come quietly."

"And once we have him?"

"Then we track down and detain every Autobot and Decepticon we find," Carver replied. He spoke bluntly, as if it were the usual business they conducted. "As of now, they are all potential threats to Earth."

* * *

Wheeljack found the long drive a bit dull, though he did have Jack for company so there was at least someone he could talk to. They had been travelling down a desert highway for about twenty minutes now, headed back to Jasper. Jack wanted to renew his plans of spending some quality time with his live-in girlfriend. As for Wheeljack, he had nothing better to do but tag along. He was content with this, as it was a welcome break from the work he was given on Cybertron.

As for his current location, these deserts all looked the same to him. Wheeljack had his navigation systems to tell him where to go, as well as Jack who gave him directions where appropriate. Jasper was still a fair drive away, smack-bang in the middle of the Nevada desert. Wheeljack was surprised anyone would even want to live out there.

Agent Darby had been resting comfortably in the passenger seat within Wheeljack's vehicle mode. He had not said much during the drive and seemed tired more than anything else. Wheeljack kept the chatter to a minimum, feeling the strain a bit himself. His talks with Skystreaker and Deadeye had been somewhat illuminating as to the current state of affairs. Skystreaker, a deserter and try-hard seductress; and Deadeye, an Autobot even more into the 'lone soldier' routine than Wheeljack was. There was a rival to be seen in Deadeye, he realised.

"Hey, Wheeljack," Jack said abruptly, interrupting the Autobot's train of thought. "There should be a gas station over those hills. I want to pick up some snacks."

"Snacks, huh?" Wheeljack shifted gears, putting himself well over any legal speeds. Then again, these highways were not exactly traffic-packed, so driving along well over the speed limit was not something many people would notice. He would have to be careful as he neared Jasper, as having a run-in with any traffic police would certainly make for an awkward situation. "Shame you can't buy me any."

"I would, if they sold energon...or whatever else you guys eat," Jack said.

Wheeljack travelled around a bend and over a set of rocky hills before coming down onto a mostly flat vista covered with dry desert vegetation. There was indeed a gas station up ahead, with the town of Jasper just visible on the horizon.

The gas station looked like a ramshackle affair and Wheeljack came to a halt outside of it, catching the gaze of one elderly bearded man in overalls who had been changing a tire on a truck by the station's main building. The building itself was constructed mainly out of wood, the paint peeling off in places, while the metal shelter under which the pumps were located was in serious need of repair, as much of its supports were rusted. Even so, the almost literally 'rustic' appearance carried a certain degree of charm. Wheeljack opened the passenger side door of his vehicle mode and Jack climbed out. He walked for the front door of the station's main building, the old man by the truck watching him carefully.

"Ain't you gonna fill her up, son?" The old man asked as he walked by. Jack stopped and looked over to him, momentarily baffled as to what the old man meant. It occurred to him then that he was referring to his 'car', the flashy white sports car with the red and green decals currently parked by the pumps.

"I don't need to," Jack replied, with a slight and knowing smirk. "It's one of those, ah, new fuel economical cars. Runs on hydrogen fuel cells." Of course, this was a lie but the old man would certainly not know any better. "I'm just here to get something to eat. You got cold drinks inside?"

"Yeah," the old man replied. He grabbed a rag off of the back of his truck and started wiping the grease off of his hands. A gentle breeze wafted through the area, kicking up some sand as it went. "There's cola, beer, whiskey, you name it."

Wheeljack watched as Jack continued inside, the door of the station's building squeaking loudly on its hinges. He disappeared from view, leaving Wheeljack with nothing to do but wait. This was something he was probably not the best at, but hopefully this particular wait would not be a long one.

From somewhere further down the highway, he could hear the growl of multiple vehicle engines. On the highway, off to his right, he watched as a trio of black SUVs came speeding by, followed by a strangely familiar blue and silver muscle car. Wheeljack would not have thought much more of them, were it not for the fact that these four vehicles slowed down and began to park themselves around the gas station.

_Now who are these guys?_ He realised that he recognized the model of SUV. They were the same matte black Escalades that he had seen in the parking lot at the Taskforce compound. Of course, their arrival simply begged a more pertinent question: _What was the Taskforce doing here? _Had they been following him?

The doors on the Escalades opened and armed Taskforce operatives in black combat gear emerged. Wheeljack recognized Captain Van Cleef among them. As for Deadeye, he remained in his vehicle mode for now, sitting somewhat further back, likely watching the situation unfold with a careful eye.

"Wheeljack," Van Cleef called. He motioned to the operatives to move forward. One hand pointed to the old man working at the truck. He had watched the vehicles roll up with some bemusement and was all the more startled when armed men came storming out of them. "Take care of the witnesses."

Two of the operatives jogged by Wheeljack and set upon the old man somewhat forcefully, pushing him to the ground while one of them pulled a plastic cable-tie out of a pouch on his uniform. He tied the old man's hands behind his back, ignoring his vocal complaints.

"What the hell are you doing?" He demanded, seconds before his head was pushed into the dirt. "Jesus Christ, what the hell is this? You can't do this. I'm an American citizen!"

Jack emerged from the gas station building then, a plastic bag at one hand packed with a few items. He had a chocolate-coated ice cream in the other and had taken a bite into it as he had walked outside, only to stop midway when he saw the armed men scattering across the gas station. Three more armed operatives raced past him and went into the building, quickly dragging out the middle-aged man who had been working behind the counter. They forced him onto his knees as well, before tying his hands behind his back. All of this happened fairly quickly and Jack, slowly chewing on his ice cream, could only stand and watch with some amazement.

Wheejack became aware of the fact that about half a dozen Taskforce operatives had surrounded him, keeping their distance but with their weapons raised. Another one had set up a large metal rifle, likely some kind of anti-armour weapon. It was set on a bipod on the hood of one of the SUVs some distance off to his right. The Autobot Wrecker knew then that these people had come here for _him_. The two gas station workers, both of whom were on their knees outside the front of the main building, had simply had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Wheeljack, show yourself," Van Cleef said. He stood about fifteen metres off to Wheeljack's right, flanked by two armed operatives. Both had their rifles pointed at the Autobot. "And don't try making a run for it, china. You'll get plenty of holes in you before you clear this petrol station."

There was likely a good explanation as to why the Taskforce were pointing guns at him again. At least, he hoped there was. He did not take too kindly to people waving guns in his direction, human or otherwise.

He transformed, standing upright in his biped form. He heard the old man yell in shock at the sight of him, only for one of the operatives to nudge him with the butt-end of his rifle, a sign to him that he should be quiet.

Jack walked over while Wheeljack regarded the potentially hostile humans. He got the impression that they would start shooting as soon as they saw his hands go for his blades. He did have both his on-board cannons, but activating them would probably get a similar response. So he stood where he was, keeping his hands to his sides, surveying the threats presented to him.

"What's the problem, Captain?" He asked, eying Van Cleef carefully. Judging from the way the Captain was looking at him, he got the very strong feeling that Van Cleef did not like him at all. Whatever dislike he had for the Cybertronians had been something he had kept very well hidden prior to now, where the piercing look in his eyes was enough of a giveaway of his true feelings for the species. "I thought we went over this last night. I ain't a threat to you."

"That's not a chance we're willing to take, big guy," Van Cleef said. His gaze went to Jack, who walked over and stopped a short distance to Wheeljack's left. "You should tell your friend here to stand down. He might listen to you. And if he does, we can avoid an 'incident'." He spoke this last word with a smirk. It was apparent he was hoping there would be an 'incident'.

"What's this about?" Jack asked.

"Your good friend Bumblebee went ahead and blew up the big chief himself," Van Cleef answered.

"Who?"

"The President and about twenty-three other people."

Wheeljack frowned. The Bumblebee he knew would not do something like that. Jack felt the same way, judging from the disbelieving look that appeared on his face. As for his ice cream, he still held onto it at the stick by one hand. It had already begun to go soft in the desert heat.

"That's ridiculous," Jack said. "He would never do that."

"Well, he did. And it's on surveillance footage as well, if you want to see for yourself." Van Cleef nodded towards Wheeljack. "Your friend needs to come with us, Colonel's orders."

"And what orders would those be?"

"The detainment of all Autobots and Decepticons," Van Cleef said. "There's been an attack on this very nation's security. Word's going to get out about what did it. So it's the Taskforce's job to make sure this sort of thing never happens again." He pointed at Wheeljack, glaring at him harshly. "You're about to make the six o'clock news, china."

"I'm flattered," Wheeljack deadpanned. "But I think you've got the wrong guy. I didn't kill your President, and I don't think 'Bee would've either."

Van Cleef looked over to Jack. The young man appeared to be understandably surprised and confused. This whole situation was too much in too little a time.

"Again, Darby, tell your friend to come quietly," the Captain said. "He might listen to you."

Jack shifted his gaze up to meet with Wheeljack's. The Autobot Wrecker noticed the uncertainty in his eyes.

"You know me, kid," he said. "I don't 'come quietly'." He smirked at his own remark.

Jack returned his attention back to the Captain.

"He's done nothing wrong." Jack regained his composure, a defiant tone seeping into his voice. "You can't just take him in. That'll cause a diplomatic incident."

"What his friend did was far more than a 'diplomatic incident'," Van Cleef replied, disgust in his tone. "It was an attack, not just against this country, but against humanity as a whole. And I swore an oath to protect our species, no matter what had to be done to ensure that security. Taking in Wheeljack for questioning is a 'precautionary measure'. You didn't take that oath, did you, Darby? Instead, you would choose him over your own flesh and blood brethren. And that, lighty, is just _plain fucking insulting_."

He glanced behind him, giving a short wave to Deadeye. The Autobot responded by transforming out of his vehicle mode. He strode towards Wheeljack, a remorseful look on his face.

"You're with these guys, huh?" Wheeljack asked. "Can't say I'm surprised. They give you cable and everything."

"Come with me," Deadeye said. He held out one hand, more of a gesture than anything else. Even he knew Wheeljack was not the kind of Autobot to hold hands with anyone. "Get this over with."

"You really think 'Bee did what this guy is saying he did?" Wheeljack remained unfazed. He nodded towards Van Cleef, who was watching the pair carefully.

"They showed me some of the surveillance footage on the way here," Deadeye replied. "It's true. It really happened."

"You sure about that?" Wheeljack could tell that Deadeye was being serious. Even so, Wheeljack needed to see it to believe it. And even then, there were possibilities, he realised, that maybe things were not all they seemed.

"Until we are, you need to come with us."

"I'm not going to do that," Wheeljack said. Giving himself up to a bunch of humans, especially this lot, struck him as a very bad idea. "They'd probably take me apart. That is what they did to all those Decepticons you helped them kill, right?"

Deadeye's optics went down and his demeanour shifted noticeably.

"I knew it." Wheeljack nodded. Things were starting to come together, at least in his mind. "This whole thing with Bumblebee is just an excuse. An excuse to take me in and turn me into some kind of messed up science experiment."

"You're just being paranoid..." Deadeye began, his tone a lot less confident than it had been previously. Wheeljack interrupted him, his frustration boiling over and falling into his voice.

"I have every right to be paranoid," he spat. "Nine years I've been gone and things have become so damn _different_. I can't stand it. And to see one of our own, _you_, siding with these humans?" He clenched his jaw, bringing his anger a bit more under control. Losing his cool was not something that happened to him often. Granted, it had become a bit more frequent in recent times. It was likely a result of the change of lifestyle, from fighting a war to rebuilding a city. _I am one very messed up Autobot._

"I've had enough of this bloody talking," Van Cleef shouted. He motioned to his operatives and they readied their weapons. Across the desert, a matte black helicopter had appeared in view, flying in low, the _chop-chop_ of its blades gradually increasing in volume as it neared. Wheeljack saw it and the very obvious guns mounted on its sides. Grappling guns, he soon realised, each manned by an operative, one at either side. Specialised hardware for specialised work.

Wheeljack's hands went to his swords then as he saw the operatives ready their weapons. He pulled both free, holding them at the ready. His combat-plate slid in place over his mouth, leaving only his optics visible. They regarded the scene around him with hostility, his combat instincts and training kicking in immediately. The blades of both of his swords caught the harsh sunlight upon them, glinting brightly.

"And here I was thinking I'd have a _good_ day," Wheeljack said.

Both Deadeye's hands went to his pistols. He drew them with amazing speed but he was not fast enough to let off a shot. Wheeljack swung one of his swords, causing Deadeye to dodge in the opposite direction, the blade swinging by his arm. His other hand he adjusted with surprising alacrity, squeezing off a shot from the pistol he held there. Wheeljack side-stepped, the shot catching him in the side, putting a painful hole through his armour and into the far more sensitive protoform underneath.

He had suffered worse. Jack, meanwhile, had started running for cover, going as far as to drop his bag of groceries and his partially eaten ice cream. Every Taskforce operative around Wheeljack opened fire, hammering him with bullets, most of which pinged off of him harmlessly. Some struck him in lesser-armoured areas, stinging but leaving no lasting damage. Wheeljack took a step back, brushing against the metal shelter over the gas pumps. Deadeye was several metres ahead of him, both pistols raised. He started shooting and Wheeljack dived, somersaulting as he hit the ground. Some of the shots struck near him, kicking up small puffs of dirt. One of them hit a gas pump and fuel began to pour out at a staggering rate, soaking the dirt around it.

The operative with the Anti-Material Cannon fired off a shot. Van Cleef had run for cover behind one of the SUVs, where most of his operatives were. The Anti-Material round grazed Wheeljack at the shoulder before it continued on its way, colliding with the front of the gas station's main building. At least half of the front of the building exploded as a result, sending forth a cloud of smoke and dust, with a quick burst of flame at its centre. Fragments of scorched wood and searing metal rained down all over the area.

The operatives who had been standing guard by the two gas station workers began to run for cover, leaving the employees out in the open. Bullets filled the air throughout the gas station, most of them concentrated upon Wheeljack, who had moved back onto his feet despite the withering fire. Another shot from the operative with the Anti-Material Cannon was let loose, this one hitting him near the left shoulder. There was a sudden and immense stab of pain all through his torso as flame erupted from the impact point. He stumbled under the concussive force, aware that a hole the size of his fist had been punched into his chest. The round had detonated within, shearing a sizeable chunk of armour off of his body. His grip on the sword in his left hand had gone slack and the blade went flying out of his reach, becoming embedded in the dirt nearby.

"You can't do this!" Jack shouted from somewhere nearby, presumably directing the statement at the Taskforce. Wheeljack barely paid the human any attention and shook himself out of the somewhat dazed state he had been left in. The shooting had become more sporadic now, as if the Taskforce had assumed he had gone down. It was not over yet. He glanced over to where Deadeye was standing, seeing that the Autobot had both pistols aimed at him.

_I'm gonna shove those pistols of his up his aft if he keeps this shit up._ Wheeljack climbed back onto his feet, sheathing the one blade he still carried.

"Continue firing!" Van Cleef shouted. The other operatives resumed shooting, some stopping to reload their weapons. Wheeljack put one arm in front of his face in an attempt to withstand the hail of gunfire. He watched as Jack raced over to one of the operatives and harshly punched him in the jaw, knocking him backwards. Immediately two others were on him, taking him down to the ground where they proceeded to beat him with their weapons.

"Get off of him!" Wheeljack was no longer in the mood to play it cool. He shifted his right arm into its cannon form and fired a shot. It found its home in one of the parked Escalades, causing it to erupt into a large fireball that knocked three of the operatives over. The smoking wreck toppled, landing on one of the operatives, the crunch that followed indicating that it had crushed his legs. Wheeljack saw Van Cleef, his face filled with rage as he regarded the carnage that had fallen upon his men. Wheeljack took aim at him but a shot from Deadeye found its mark in his right arm, putting a hole through it and the cannon. He turned around to face the Autobot, anger flaring up within him. He started to charge for him, vaguely aware that the operative with the Anti-Material Cannon had taken another shot at him.

This one hit one of the gas pumps. Instead of simply putting a hole in it, the whole thing blew apart. A massive plume of flame erupted out of the ground, followed by a concussive wave that knocked Wheeljack and Deadeye over. The shelter over the gas pumps was lifted off of its moorings and sent flying, with the second gas pump following suit after the first. Another plume of smoke and flame blossomed forth, followed by a deafening _boom_ that echoed throughout the desert. Van Cleef hit the dirt behind an SUV as all its windows shattered from the force of the explosion. Burning fuel rained down upon the parking area, splattering onto some of the SUVs. Wheeljack received an unhealthy dose of burning fuel across his back, the pain enough to cause him to roll over in an effort to smother it. One operative became shrouded in stray fire, something that was quickly followed by his screams as the burning fuel began to cook his flesh.

Wheeljack rolled onto his back amongst the smoke and fire, only to find himself looking straight up at Deadeye. The Autobot had a gun pointed squarely in his face. Wheeljack ached all over and he found that his left arm, with the hole put into his shoulder there, was not working as well as it normally would.

"Come quietly," Deadeye said. There was a look of fear in his eyes. Wheeljack did not know whether it was fear of him, or fear of what the Taskforce would do to him after this incident.


	16. Crackdown

**Crackdown**

Wheeljack's left arm was not working as well as it normally did. The hole blown into his chest ached considerably, energon trickling out of it at an alarming rate. When the Taskforce people had taken him down, Deadeye had stuck some kind of prod to his stomach, punching a small device into the exposed protoform there. This had apparently rendered him unable to transform, since try as he might, he could not muster the control to do so.

He had been chained up rather tightly upon the back of a flatbed truck before the Taskforce operatives had covered him over with a tarpaulin. Lying on his back like this, his life in the hands of a bunch of humans who clearly did not like him, was demeaning. He had been in tougher scrapes, he was sure of it. Yet for the life of him, he could not work his way out of this one. They had him down and he was unable to get up. He could not see anything beyond the blue tarpaulin that covered him, save for the feel of the truck underneath moving along at a fairly gradual pace. The heat of the sun worked its way through the plastic, warming him. The flatbed truck was not the most comfortable ride, bumping along unsteadily.

He was still confused as to what could have possibly happened to turn the Taskforce against him so suddenly. Bumblebee had killed the nation's leader, yet not even Wheeljack could imagine the Autobot doing that. Of all the Autobots he knew, Bumblebee was the one least likely to pull a stunt of that kind. Something was not right here, beyond the fact that the Taskforce was taking him back to their base as if he were no more than a shipment of white goods. He could hear the other cars, the matte black SUVs that the Taskforce favoured so greatly, travelling ahead of and behind the truck. A convoy that would have certainly turned heads in any populated area, but out in the Nevada desert there was not really much of a population to begin with.

Eventually the truck slowed down. Wheeljack had been lying still, held firmly in place by the many chains that bound him. He felt weak and realised that his strength had been fading ever since the shootout at the gas station. The shot he had taken to the left shoulder, by whatever advanced anti-armour gun the Taskforce had at its disposal, had been bleeding blue energon fluid the entire time. It had started pooling underneath him, resulting in a sticky sensation against the bed of the truck. The Taskforce were apparently unconcerned with his wellbeing and were unlikely to care much if he fell out of consciousness. An inactive Autobot would be a lot easier to detain than one that could stand up and cause trouble.

The truck stopped, its engine still running. Wheeljack made a guess that they had arrived at the Taskforce compound. He heard a gate slide open up ahead, the SUVs in front of the truck driving on through. Once they were going, the truck was shifted back into gear and followed them. It was about another minute before the truck finally came to a halt and the driver killed the engine. When this happened, Wheeljack did not have to wait long for the tarpaulin to come off of him. He found himself looking up at the blue sky above, the heat of the sun warming his chassis a great deal. And then he heard a set of heavy footsteps and a shadow fell over him. He tilted his head slightly, catching a glimpse of the Autobot who stood nearby. Immediately, his mood soured even more than it already was.

"Deadeye," he croaked. Deadeye looked down at him with indifference. There may have been a hint of remorse in the Autobot's optics, that or it was simply the way the sunlight reflected off of them. "When I get out..."

"You'll kill me?" Deadeye inquired, narrowing his optics. "That might not be for the best. You already made things worse for yourself after what happened at the gas station." He reached down to Wheeljack's chains, unhooking those that had kept him firmly held down on the truck. Somewhat roughly and apparently with little care for how Wheeljack felt, Deadeye dragged him off of the truck's rear, allowing him to thump against the warm tarmac before he began dragging him towards the large building ahead. Wheeljack, his arms chained together in front of him, recognized the building as the one where the detainment area was located. There were Taskforce soldiers milling about, a few standing guard at the front of the building. Wheeljack caught a glimpse of Captain Van Cleef, who stood nearby and watched with an unmistakably pleased smile as Wheeljack was dragged across the asphalt.

Wheeljack's back was scraped considerably, the finish ruined, by the time he was taken inside the detainment building. Deadeye put one arm under one of his and hoisted him up onto his feet, his gaze going to the gaping wound at his left shoulder.

"You feeling all right?" He asked. There was a hint of actual concern in his voice, although Wheeljack was hardly in the mood to reply appropriately.

"What do you care?" He spat. Deadeye said nothing and walked him up to the doorway that lead into the detainment areas. The beams of glowing energy barring the way were still up. This was quickly rectified when Deadeye waved to a guard standing at the other side of the room. The guard nodded and reached for a lever on the wall that he pulled down, cutting the power to the beams. As soon as they were gone, Wheeljack found himself pushed inside where he stumbled and fell face-first onto the floor.

His wrists still chained together and his body feeling weak, he found it abnormally hard to stand back up onto his feet. The guard outside shifted the lever back and the beams reappeared in the doorway, barring Wheeljack from leaving. The Autobot Wrecker rolled onto his back, glancing towards the door where Deadeye was watching him. Wheeljack noticed the trail of energon fluid he had left in his wake. There was a great deal streaked down his torso, all flowing from the hole near his left shoulder.

_I've had worse._ He watched as Deadeye walked out of view, leaving the newly captive Autobot to his own devices. However, Wheeljack saw that he was not alone. Skystreaker had stepped into view to his right and she had one hand opened towards him. He was not normally one to accept help, certainly not from a Decepticon, but this time around he figured his pride had already been wounded enough already that a little help from a potential enemy would hardly make a difference. He held his hands up, both bound together at the wrists. Skystreaker took them both and hefted him up, her other arm going around to his back to help ease him onto his feet.

"What did it take for you to get thrown into here?" She sounded amused. Wheeljack frowned.

"Let me think," he said. "I'm still a little uncertain of it myself. It might have something to do with the fact I blew up a gas station."

"You blew up a what?"

"It was the human's fault, really," Wheeljack added. "They should know better than to start shooting near a whole lot of flammable liquid." He regarded the Decepticon female with a wry smile. She was standing surprisingly close to him and the look in her optics seemed to indicate some level of actual concern for his wellbeing. However, she also wore a smirk, as she no doubt found his current predicament an amusing one.

"And what compelled you to blow up a 'gas station'?" Skystreaker crossed her arms.

"One of my friends apparently blew up their President," Wheeljack said. His disbelief in the matter was clear in his tone. "And then the Taskforce guys tried to bring me in."

"They succeeded."

"Yeah, well, let's just say that a few of them might need to have extended stays in hospital." Wheeljack had not directly harmed anyone during the shootout, from what he could recall. Fire-fights were often chaotic. Trying to keep track of where one's every single shot went was more trouble that it was worth. He could not help it if the humans were as fragile and squishy as they were. "Look, Skyreeker.."

"_Skystreaker_." She scowled at him.

"All right, _Skystreaker_. There's some bad shit going down and I want to get out of here."

"Yeah, well, good luck with that," Skystreaker said. "What do you think I've been doing in here? I've examined every inch of this cell. It's all reinforced steel and concrete. And we have no weapons. And our T-cogs have been disabled. These Taskforce guys have all the right equipment to shut us right down."

Wheeljack felt something build up in his throat as he went to speak. He coughed then and a globule of blue energon fluid flew out of his mouth. He leaned against the nearest wall and continued to bring up life fluid, finding himself in the midst of a fit that only made him feel weaker. He was surprised when Skystreaker came up to him and put a hand to his good shoulder, holding him against the wall somewhat forcefully.

"You need to be patched up," Skystreaker said. She examined his wound carefully while Wheeljack, recovering from the coughing, looked at her with scepticism. He did not even know this Decepticon, yet she actually seemed concerned for him. Either that, or she figured her chances of escape were far greater if the two of them worked together. That was the likely possibility. No Decepticon, certainly not one he knew, would go out of his (or her) way to help him unless there was something in it for them.

"And what? You some kind of doctor?" Wheeljack very much doubted this.

"I had some medical training," Skystreaker replied. "Enough to tell you that you need to get patched up and soon. Otherwise, if you keep losing energon like that, you'll go into stasis lock."

Wheeljack regarded her with a cautious look. She sounded serious, sure, but could he trust her? He had a hard enough time trusting Knock Out, even though that particular Decepticon had been loyal to the Autobot cause for nine years. Skystreaker was some Decepticon he had only just met, one who was plotting escape as much as he was. Still, he found himself actually _wanting_ her help. He had nothing to lose.

"And how are you going to help me?" He asked her.

"I haven't got any medical equipment on me, obviously," Skystreaker answered. "But Deadeye may. I could appeal to him, or you could."

"I don't think he likes me." Wheeljack put a hand to the gaping wound near his shoulder. Skystreaker did not have difficulty tearing the chains off of his wrists.

"You were taken alive for a reason," Skystreaker said. "I don't think the Taskforce will want you bleeding to death. Same reason they took me alive."

"And what was that?"

She shrugged. Wheeljack did the Cybertronian equivalent of a sigh.

"Maybe they want to dissect us?" Skystreaker suggested, half-jokingly. Wheeljack shook his head, a movement that sent some pain through his shoulder. He felt as if he were aching all over. He put one hand to his mouth, finding a trickle of energon fluid dribbling out. That shot he had taken from the human anti-material cannon had messed him up pretty good.

Skystreaker walked up to the glowing beams of energy over the doorway. She looked to the guard standing by the power controls.

"Hey you," she called. He looked over to her, one brow slightly raised. "Yeah, you. The fleshling. That prisoner you just dragged in here? He's going to die soon if he doesn't get actual medical attention. Get Deadeye in here."

"Move back from the door," the guard replied. He pointed his rifle towards her, more as a gesture than anything else. He knew full well that standard firearms did little against Cybertronians.

"Get Deadeye in here," Skystreaker said. "Tell him to bring in the Cybertronian medical equipment he's likely got stashed away someplace."

The guard walked over to a phone set onto the wall and picked it up, punching in about three numbers in order to reach someone else located on the compound. Skystreaker watched him as he spoke quietly into it. After a moment, he put it back on the wall and returned to his post by the power lever.

Wheeljack had slumped against the wall in the meantime. He wondered if Deadeye would actually come by. That seemed unlikely, although he supposed that Skystreaker had a point: they had taken him in alive, presumably so they could question him. Him dying, or at the very least going into stasis lock, would not be all too convenient for them. Naturally, this was all just speculation on his part. Maybe they did want to dissect him. That was hardly the end he thought he would get.

Deadeye did come back a short time later, much to the surprise of both Wheeljack and Skystreaker. He stood on the opposite side of the energy beams, eyeing Skystreaker carefully. In one hand he held a small device, Cybertronian in design, with a long needle-like attachment on the end.

"I was going to bring this around anyway," Deadeye said abruptly. He knelt down and slid it across the floor, sending it underneath the lowest beam of energy. Skystreaker picked it up in one hand, testing the trigger. The needle glowed, a small inch-long beam extending from its end. "That should be enough to stop the bleeding."

"You're such a nice guy," Wheeljack croaked from the other end of the cell. He did not mean it.

"I guess even life-threatening injuries don't stop you from being snarky," Skystreaker said. Deadeye watched them both from the other side of the beams, his arms crossed across his chest as Skystreaker knelt down by Wheeljack and tended to the hole near his left shoulder.

"I'll be waiting here until you're done," Deadeye said. "I'll need that thing back."

Wheeljack ignored him, focusing his attention onto Skystreaker. She had placed the device to his wound and activated it. A burning, stinging pain filled his chest then as the energy the device emitted set every pain receptor in his torso alight. Still, it did cauterise and seal up the leaks that had been caused by the round he had taken. It was slow-going and would only provide the most rudimentary relief, as he still had the gaping hole in his chest and he had no idea what other internal damage might have been caused.

"You're not doing this for me, are you?" He watched Skystreaker carefully.

"And who would I be doing it for?" She asked him.

"Yourself. So I can help you escape." He winced then, when the device struck a particularly sensitive part within the hole.

Skystreaker gave a short laugh. Whether it was in response to his remark or to his obvious discomfort, Wheeljack could not be certain.

* * *

It was partly his fault, Jack realised, that he had been beaten up. He had been expecting as much as soon as he had attempted to stop the Taskforce operatives from shooting at Wheeljack, a futile gesture at best as he had been vastly outnumbered, but it had been preferable over standing back and letting them hurt, and potentially kill, the Autobot Wrecker.

Jack had found himself in Colonel Carver's office. It was a fairly large one at that, located in the larger administration building near the middle of the compound. He had been escorted there by two armed guards, bringing him inside where Carver was seated at his desk, mulling over an open wooden case. Jack had numerous bruises on his body as well as a cut on his forehead, though that had clotted over by this point. Much of him simply ached dully. If anything, his opinion on the Taskforce had been changed irrevocably. Getting beaten could do that to someone's worldview.

Carver had been in the process of cleaning the guns in that case. His sidearm of choice was a chrome silver Wildey pistol, with a six inch barrel, chambered for the powerful .475 Wildey magnum round. It was impracticably large for a side-arm, yet that did not appear to deter the Colonel from carrying it with him. He placed this pistol into the case next to a much smaller, pocket-sized .22 pistol that was no bigger than his fist.

"Agent Darby," Carver stated, his tone level. His office was neat, almost spartan. There was a display case to Jack's left, containing yet another gun. Inside was an old flintlock musket, along with a few photos of Carver standing with various important looking people. At the back wall, by the window where the blinds were drawn, was an American flag on a short, brass pole. And to Jack's right was an LCD screen set into the wall, presumably connected to the laptop computer the Colonel had at his desk. Only some light seeped in through the closed blinds, casting the whole room in a fairly subdued glow, a look compounded by the typical grey paintjob on the walls.

Carver motioned to the two guards who had brought Jack in. Both turned around and strode out of the room, the door swinging shut behind them. Carver then eyed Jack curiously.

"I was told about what happened," he said carefully. Jack remained standing, despite the pain he felt in his lower back. As appealing as sitting down would have been for him in his current state, he did not feel like giving the Colonel even that small satisfaction. "Captain Van Cleef can be a bit overzealous in his methods, but he gets things done. That's why I hired him in the first place. Some of these ex-South African Special Forces people can be a bit _unpredictable_."

"Is it normal for the Taskforce to shoot-up a gas station?" Jack asked.

"A shootout is a chaotic thing," Carver said. "It would have been better had Wheeljack given himself up voluntarily."

"You should have known better."

"We only want him for questioning, really," Carver replied. "And to detain him, and the other Autobots, until the current situation can be resolved."

Jack frowned. Carver was making it sound all very ordinary, as if things like this happened all the time. Jack had been in this line of work long enough to know that this sort of event was far from common.

"And what is that situation?" Jack asked. "You send your people out to get him, you blow up a gas station, you beat me into the dirt...What kind of situation is it, Colonel, when you can so quickly turn against those who have been helping us for so long?"

Carver narrowed his eyes then. He sat back in his chair, a sceptical look crossing his weathered features.

"The Autobots have not helped us for nearly a decade," Carver said. "They brought their war to our planet and they left as soon as it was over. Of course, they left a token presence behind, but it should be clear to even you, regardless of how well you like some of the Autobots, that humanity is very much on its own. There are things out there, amongst the stars, that could bring our civilization to its knees with ease. That's why this Taskforce was created. We cannot rely on the Autobots to help us anymore. They have their own problems. And they've caused a few for us."

"I was told that the President..."

"The President was killed, as were several others," Carver interrupted. "Your Autobot friend, Bumblebee, did it. I even have the surveillance footage on my computer, if you don't believe me." With one hand, he tapped a few keys at his laptop. The LCD screen at the wall changed then, going from the typical blue 'stand-by' screen to a freeze-frame from a surveillance camera. Jack recognized the scene as being near one of the helipads near the Unit-E hangar. There was a helicopter descending and he saw Agent Fowler amongst the people waiting there. Ultra Magnus was there also, standing with his hands behind his back. Carver resumed the playback and Jack watched as a blue bolt of energy shot from somewhere off-screen, striking the ground near Ultra Magnus. The explosion knocked the large Autobot aside with ease.

The view switched to that from another security camera, this one further up the runway. There was Bumblebee all right, his back partly turned to the camera, a large Cybertronian rifle raised to his shoulder. He fired another shot, blowing the President's helicopter out of the air. Carver paused the playback then, letting the images properly register within Jack's mind.

"Some Autobot friend you have," Carver commented. Jack shook his head. This was not something Bumblebee would do, nor any of the other Autobots for that matter.

"It can't be him," Jack said. He turned to the Colonel. The gravity of the situation was beginning to sink in. "The Decepticons could have brainwashed him. Or it could even be a Decepticon..."

"Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing what exactly happened until we can detain Bumblebee. As a precautionary measure, we'll be bringing in the other Autobots as well." Carver paused for a moment then, his expression as stone-set as it usually was. "It doesn't matter if it was really Bumblebee or not. There has been attack, Darby. An attack not just against this nation, but on humanity as a whole. This is the sort of thing the Taskforce was created to combat. The fact that this happened puts doubt on our efforts as a whole. How do you think the public will react?"

Jack raised an eyebrow when he heard this question.

"The public? You're going to tell them?"

"This has to be disclosed," Carver said. "We can't exactly keep this a secret." He checked the watch he wore at his left wrist. "We have about an hour before the news is broken. The general population will be told of an alien attack against our leadership, followed by a number of press conferences from people in the government and military, myself among them, that will clarify details and provide background to what has happened."

Jack could hardly believe it. They were going to make the Autobots out to be the bad guys, this much became clear to him. Autobots and Decepticons would be painted as the villains, regardless of the truth behind what they had done for or against humanity.

"Shouldn't you wait until you know more?" Jack asked.

"Wait? This is hardly something we can 'wait' on." Carver shook his head. "The public deserves to know what happened, especially when this situation concerns the entire species. This could be the beginning of a far greater threat, an invasion even. Why else would they target our leadership?"

"To incite the sort of thing you're advocating now," Jack replied. He was sure of it, he could not ascertain why, but this whole situation was about to spiral out of control and the public would be placed in greater jeopardy than ever before. "Disclosure. Vilification of the Autobots. All this time I thought you knew the difference between the two sides, Colonel. You even have an Autobot working for you. Now you'll go out and tell the public that the very same Autobots who have been helping us all this time are the ones trying to attack us?"

"I'll tell the public the truth," Carver said. There was a slight edge to his voice, as if Jack's questioning nature had struck a nerve. "Humanity is on its own in this fight, Darby. The Autobots cannot be trusted and there are still many Decepticons at large. It's the dawn of a new era, Darby. The age of Cybertronian and human cooperation is over, as far as I'm concerned. And I think it's for the best."

"How can you say that?" Jack spat, far more forcefully than he had intended. Carver hardly looked fazed. He raised one eyebrow slightly in a curious manner, as he regarded the younger man standing across the desk from him.

"Humanity must be strong enough to stand on its own," Carver replied. "The Autobots can no longer help us. Even without what's happening now, they have problems of their own. Problems they threaten to drag to us without proper boundaries. They dragged the Decepticon problem to us, didn't they?"

"It would have happened regardless. Earth and Cybertron have always been linked."

"And maybe it's time we put restrictions on those 'links'?" Carver rose out of his chair then. He closed the gun case on the desk with one hand. "Do you really want to be beholden to them, Darby? As far as I'm concerned, they betrayed us."

"It can't have been Bumblebee..."

"Unless you can somehow prove that within the next hour, then it's going to be made pretty clear to the public that it _was_ Bumblebee." Carver stated this bluntly; he was not one to dress up his words. He did not care that it would be an Autobot that would be vilified to the public and this only made Jack angrier. It appeared that he had misplaced his trust in the Taskforce. "I don't make the rules. I follow them. And the media, it's a fickle thing."

"The Autobots are our only means of defence against the Decepticons," Jack said. "If Cyclonus were to attack us..."

"We don't need the Autobots, Darby. We may have use for Deadeye's services, but what you see here, on this compound, is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to what the Taskforce can do. Fourteen Decepticons confirmed killed since this organization's inception. And Deadeye only assisted for some of those." He paused briefly, considering what next to add. "Our capabilities are far greater." He took up the gun case before tucking it under one arm. He eyed Jack with a stern expression, wary of what the younger man might do in response to all that had happened.

"What will you do with Wheeljack?" Jack asked.

"Wheeljack?" Carver gave a quick shrug. "He'll be detained indefinitely."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

Jack did not believe him. There was a brief silence between the two of them, an awkward one at that, though Carver looked unconcerned. He gestured towards the door of the office.

"You can go now, Darby. Go home, get some rest. I'll be in contact."

Jack scowled at him a moment before he turned around and left the office. Carver followed him out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. He noticed Jack's curious glance.

"I have to go somewhere myself," he said. "To meet with some associates. As I said, I'll be in contact with you later. We can properly discuss matters then, maybe after you've cleaned yourself up and cooled down." With that, Carver turned around and started down the corridor, leaving Jack to go his own way.

Once the Colonel was out of sight, Jack pulled out his cell-phone and dialled Fowler's number. If there was one man he could trust right now, it would be William Fowler. He would no doubt be interested to hear what Colonel Carver had just told Jack. Disclosing such things was most likely a breach of the agreement he had made when he had first started working for the Taskforce, but he had stopped caring about that as soon as they had started shooting at Wheeljack.

Fowler took a moment to answer his phone.

_"Hello?"_ He sounded weary. Jack had seen him in the surveillance footage, so he had been on the scene when Bumblebee had blown up the President's helicopter. He was most certainly feeling the effects of that event a great deal.

"It's Jack."

_"Jack? What's going on?"_

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Jack said. He leaned back against the wall behind him, keeping an eye out for any potential eavesdroppers. As far as he could tell, there was no one in this particular stretch of corridor who might overhear him. There was a surveillance camera at the far end. Thankfully, the cameras had no audio and as such anyone viewing the feed would not be able to hear the conversation.

_"I'm with Magnus. We've been searching for Bumblebee since..."_

"I know what happened," Jack interrupted. "I just thought you deserved to know what Colonel Carver's been planning. He just had Wheeljack imprisoned."

_"What?"_ Fowler sounded understandably startled by this piece of information. _"You mean, he's got some kind of Autobot prison?"_

"The Taskforce has all it needs to keep an Autobot under control," Jack replied. "You'd be surprised what they have here."

_"You said you know what Carver's going to do?"_

"Tell the public that an Autobot killed the President. To him, they're hardly any better than the Decepticons."

_"That's crazy."_

"I thought the same thing."

His heart was pounding in his chest. He had already been beaten into the dirt once, if the Taskforce caught him telling Fowler about all of this he might end up in a federal prison. However, he would be damned if he just let the Taskforce hunt down the Autobots and 'detain' them. Bumblebee had not been the one to commit the crimes, there was no way in hell that Bumblebee would have done such a thing unless he had been under outside influence. Either that, or it had not been Bumblebee at all.

"They'll be coming after Ultra Magnus," Jack said. "You'll need to get somewhere out of their reach. If he gets captured, along with Knock Out, then it's doubtful we'll ever be able to get to the bottom of what really happened."

_"Knock Out's been missing for over an hour,"_ Fowler said. _"Do you think the Taskforce got him, too?"_

Jack would have shaken his head, were it not for the fact that he was speaking over a phone.

"He's still out there somewhere," he replied. "Maybe the ones behind this got him. Maybe Cyclonus got him, I don't know."

_"What about Wheeljack?"_

"I'll try and help him out. He's locked up on the compound here, but I think I might be able to help him."

_"You sure about this, Jack? You're putting yourself right in the firing line."_

"I need to know the truth," Jack said. "And I know you feel the same. If that means going against the Taskforce, then that's what we'll do. They've already lost my trust and I know for a fact that you never trusted them to begin with."

_"Damn right."_

"Stay with Magnus, find Bumblebee. You find him and I think you'll find the truth as well." His mind was made, then. They would get to the bottom of what had really happened, regardless of who it pitted them against.

_"Don't do anything stupid, Jack."_

"I could say the same thing to you."

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line.

_"And to think, I was only a week away from retirement."_


	17. Tradition and Faith

**Tradition and Faith**

"There is a story, in the Book of Nova Prime, that tells of that Prime's travels during his self-imposed exile, prior to his ascendency to a higher plane." Star Saber clutched either side of the pulpit, surveying the audience of attentive Decepticons before him. The hall was fairly large, situated on one of the cruiser's lower levels. There must have been about one hundred Decepticons here of varying shapes and sizes, most of them soldiers, some weary, some scarred. The lights set into the ceiling above cast the whole room in a dry white glow. He could see that his flock was growing. This was a good sign.

"He came across a Cybertronian, somewhat like himself, who had attempted to create a living on a world far from Cybertron. Here, there was very little life and very few resources, but this individual was convinced of the existence of riches that lay below the surface of the world. He was driven by greed, mainly, and intended to create a booming energon mine that would ensure his wealth, and the wealth of ensuing generations. Nova Prime spoke to this Cybertronian and discovered that, despite his desire for greed, despite the failed attempts to uncover energon and despite his perseverance, that this mech had no _faith_. He blamed Primus for all his misfortunes, he had forsaken him many cycles before and continued existing as a selfish, hateful individual who despised Primus and all he stood for. Nova Prime attempted to save this mech, to make him see the error of his ways, and to explain to him that the spite he carried for our God was likely a mutual one, for by forsaking Primus, Primus turned a blind-eye to him in return. Yet, the mech was stubborn, incredibly so."

Star Saber's voice carried clearly throughout the hall. There was very little other noise, save for the subdued hum of the ship's engines. His stentorian tones ensured that all attention was focused on him.

"Nova Prime was unable to shake this mech's unbridled hatred of Primus. He continued on his vain quest for wealth upon a mostly dead world. And Nova Prime could do little else but watch, knowing full well that he was losing a perfectly good mech through no fault of his own. He wanted to save him, but the one he wished to save did not want to be saved. And that is a problem that faces us now, that faces our species today. The lack of faith, and the often blatant hatred of our God. To become so far removed from our traditional beliefs, allowing the moral decay to set in. And this mech, on this dead world, died not too long after, a shell of a Cybertronian, starved of energon while all Nova Prime could do is watch. Was he beyond saving? Or was he simply so far past the point of no return that not even Nova Prime could allow him to see the error of his ways?

"In the end, Nova buried him before moving on in his travels. Not too long after, some passing pilgrims erected a monument and inevitably struck an energon vein. That world, Praxus VI, became one of Cybertron's main off-world sources of energon. As you can see, faith won out again in the end. I wish for you all to gleam, from this story, that it is vital that one does not ever lose their faith and, above all, never falls into spite against God. Primus is a benevolent one, but even he can turn a blind-eye to those who fall into hatred against him. And, in a sense, Primus has turned a blind eye to our species as a whole. When the moral foundation that the Covenant of Primus' teachings fell away from underneath our civilisation, it did not take long for the degeneracy to set in. For our once great society to fall into decadence. People no longer followed our God, some even hated him. 'Atheism' of the most extreme variety. A decision made by many to abandon what had held our society together for so long. And then the war came, and from that we ended up the way we are now: scattered and few in number, without a moral foundation to guide us. The Autobots think they can rebuild Cybertron, yet they neglect Primus. They will simply start the cycle anew. I intend to prevent that." He paused for a moment then, allowing his words to sink into the minds of those in his congregation. "It was predicted, in the Book of Nova Prime, that there would be a reckoning. Those who did not believe, and those who refused to believe, would be purged. A new golden age for our race would begin, founded upon the original principles laid out through the teachings in both the Covenant of Primus and the Book of Nova Prime. Cybertronians would be a strong species again, the _superior_ species with our faith as our sword and shield. Those who chose heresy would be damned. In a sense, our civilisation was much like the mech in the story I told. Without faith, spiteful of Primus, driven by selfish desires such as greed. Beyond saving, no matter how many opportunities it was given to repent. What the Autobots are doing on Cybertron now is doomed to failure. Unless we can show them the true way."

The door at the far end of the hall opened. Cyclonus stepped in, straight-faced. There was some hint of disdain visible within his optics. He had made his dislike of Star Saber's growing following amongst his forces clear on numerous occasions in the past. Cyclonus stopped at the far end of the central aisle between the rows of benches occupied by those in the congregation. He watched Star Saber carefully but said nothing.

"The reckoning will come. The atheists will be purged." He narrowed his optics then, fixing his gaze on Cyclonus. "Even the General here will have to make a decision, eventually."

"Star Saber, these soldiers must return to their postings," Cyclonus called from across the hall. Heads turned to him and there were some quiet mutterings among those seated. "I think you've filled their heads with enough nonsense for one day."

Star Saber said nothing. Some of the soldiers were rising to their feet before they started shuffling out of the hall. Cyclonus worked his way through the throng, though most stepped aside from him. Star Saber watched the Decepticon General work his way up to the pulpit before stepping onto the stage so that he was on the same level as Star Saber.

"General Cyclonus," Star Saber said. He deactivated the holographic data-pad laid out in front of him. "You wish to speak to me, I gather?"

"I would like to know why you are torturing the Autobot prisoner," Cyclonus said. "What do you hope to achieve?"

Star Saber gave the matter a brief thought. Behind Cyclonus, most of the congregation had filed out. Only about ten remained, among them Vortex, one of the Combaticons and one who had been especially receptive to Star Saber's preaching.

"Do you garner some sick enjoyment from it?" Cyclonus asked. His tone was an incisive one. For a Decepticon, Star Saber found Cyclonus strangely 'soft'. He lacked the hard edge that someone like Megatron had carried. Then again, playing second-fiddle to Megatron had likely put a sizeable crimp in Cyclonus' self-esteem after all these years. "I want him in good condition."

"He will be in better condition, once we are done with him," Star Saber said. "Someone like that, one of these loyal Autobots who follow Optimus Prime, they cannot be steered to our way of thinking very easily. One must break them first. Trying to talk it into them is simply a waste of time."

"I suppose you wish to do the same to the other one we picked up?" Cyclonus asked this as more of a rhetorical question, if his mocking tone was anything to go by.

Star Saber raised an optic ridge in curiosity.

"Who might that be?" He asked.

"Knock Out, the medic. He is currently being kept inside the detainment area."

"The Decepticon turncoat," Star Saber mused aloud. "It is up to you, General. I have no use for him."

There was a pause. Cyclonus frowned, his contempt for the Autobot zealot clear in the way he scrunched up his face.

"The soldiers could use some entertainment," Cyclonus said. "But I want you to cease the torture on the yellow one."

Star Saber nodded slowly. If Cyclonus wanted to have his fun with the prisoners, he could. Star Saber would simply have to come away from this whole thing disappointed, if Bumblebee was unable to be 'convinced' of the righteousness of his cause.

"Any word concerning the Seal?" Star Saber inquired. "I believe we are close to fulfilling our end of the deal, after all."

"Soon, Star Saber," Cyclonus replied. A slight smile did creep across his mouth then. Star Saber had no real desire to share the spoils of this endeavour to Cyclonus, but for now he had no qualms about playing along. "Things will fall into place very soon. Be careful, Star Saber, for he that is proud, as you most certainly are, eats up himself."

"Your words confuse me sometimes, General."

"And that is coming from a preacher, of all things." Cyclonus scoffed. "Remember, Star Saber. I am the one in charge of the soldiers here, not you. I tolerate these sermons only because of my respect for you and because of your invaluable assistance to my cause. Step out of line, turn these soldiers against me and I will _end you_." He narrowed his optics, giving Star Saber a harsh gaze. Star Saber remained unfettered and returned the General's look with a completely stoic expression.

"Always good to hear you admitting to your own barbarism," Star Saber replied.

* * *

Bumblebee had been in and out of consciousness for a while now. His body was wracked with pain and he was sometimes only dimly aware that the Decepticon 'doctor' was working on him. Much of the plating on his arms and chest had been torn clean, revealing the more sensitive grey-black protoform underneath. Energon trickled out of the many gashes that marred his form and some of it had left unruly splatters all over the Decepticon doctor. Now Bumblebee was awake once again, very much aware of the pain that stung all over his chest and arms. However, he realised that the doctor was no longer slowly taking him apart. Instead, he was working at the stump of a right arm that Bumblebee had gained as a result of his run-in with Shadowstriker the night before. The Decepticon doctor was welding something there, the sudden shot of burning pain going up his arm an indication that he was mending, or at least manipulating, nerve endings there.

Bumblebee could only just move his head enough to get a proper glimpse of what the doctor was doing. He was startled to see a rather crude claw being attached, reminiscent of the one that Ultra Magnus had received after losing a hand to Predaking. Granted, the Autobot Commander had received an improved replacement since then, but Bumblebee could only guess as to why this Decepticon 'doctor' had suddenly decided to give him a new limb.

The doctor noticed the direction of his gaze and smiled.

"Well, young'un, new orders came through and it looks like you've been saved," he said, his mouth forming into a malevolent smile. "It's disappointing, almost, since I was sure I was close to breaking that ever-so steely resolve of yours." He let out a hearty chuckle.

"Too...bad..." Bumblebee croaked. It hurt for him to speak.

"Too bad for _you_, more like," the Decepticon doctor replied. He took a crude, bladed weapon from the table to his left and fitted it upon Bumblebee's new right hand. It fit perfectly, going over the claw-like appendage like a glove. Although he now had a weapon, the Autobot had no way to move enough to make proper use of it.

The doctor turned around and walked over to the bench nearby. From there, he picked up a large injector, removing the cover from it that in turn revealed the contents of the vial within. Bumblebee recognized the green liquid immediately and squirmed under the energon clasps that held him tightly upon the suspended rack. There was no getting away.

The doctor turned around and clutched the injector in one hand. He shifted his attention to Bumblebee's left arm and planted the tip of the razor sharp needle upon the less-armoured section at the joint. As much as Bumblebee would have liked to catch some sort of break, to at least process everything that had happened today, it appeared that his captors had other ideas.

"I understand that someone, it might have been your friend Ratchet, had perfected the synthetic energon formula enough for use on non-living things," the Decepticon doctor said. "I've made a few modifications of my own to the formula, just as a little side project. Such modifications have provided interesting results on some test subjects. Hopefully you'll make for one of those 'interesting' ones and not one who dies horribly after the first injection." He paused then, his optics meeting with Bumblebee's. "Don't look so worried. It may be highly addictive but I'll be here to give you all you want."

Bumblebee could feel his spark pounding in his chest. It was one thing to be tortured through de-plating and the tried-and-true method of having sensitive parts sliced, but to be subjected to unstable synthetic energon? That was not something routine repairs could fix up. Primus only knew what kind of effect this modified synthetic energon would have on his internals.

The Decepticon doctor slammed the injector home before Bumblebee could protest. The synthetic energon burned through him, seemingly boiling him from within. The pain was enough to make him scream, and he continued to do so even after the whole injection was through. The Autobot lost control of his body for a moment and began to convulse uncontrollably, his every joint going haywire while the doctor sat back and looked on with a grin on his face.

It was about a minute before Bumblebee's vision blurred and the pain subsided, as did his screaming. When his senses finally returned a few minutes later, he became aware that the Decepticon doctor was shooting another injection into him. This one, unlike the first, did not hurt at all.

Everything around him seemed to brighten considerably, as if a shadow had been lifted from his senses. He could ascertain every detail on the ceiling above, every imperfection in the metal, every scar and dent on the Decepticon doctor's weathered features. And above all, the feeling that yes, he really could do anything. A feeling compounded by the fury that had suddenly built within him, a fury that threatened to explode out of him at any second. He felt so _strong_, it was something he had difficulty making sense of. The fury started to build, so much so that he found it difficult to think about anything else. He wanted to be free, to grab that Decepticon doctor by the head so he could tear it clean off. So he started fighting against the energon ties that bound him, his frustration reaching incredible levels very quickly when he found that not even his enhanced strength could get him free from them.

"Save your energy," the doctor stated, a smile creeping onto his mouth. Bumblebee snarled at him in response. It was all he could muster, with his mind as clouded as it was.

* * *

Knock Out came to on a metal surface, the sky above him a startling blue colour. His entire left side burned painfully and a quick glance down at himself revealed that his injuries, those he had sustained from a rather unexpected attack from Bumblebee, had been crudely patched over. The hole that had been put in his chest had had a metal plate welded over it in what he saw to be seriously sloppy medical work. His left arm was a mess of solid metal slag and the whole thing felt numb. He could barely lift it, despite the joints within being in reasonable condition. It was the exterior that had taken the brunt of the damage, with sensitive protoform flesh exposed in places. If anything, his finish had been ruined. Far more than it ever had before.

He sat up, finding himself in the centre of a large, circular area. Seated on the sides, he saw, were about thirty Decepticons of varying shapes and sizes. They were all watching him with eager anticipation. Knock Out rose to his feet, his legs aching. He looked ahead and saw that he was actually on some kind of landing strip, reminiscent of the one that had been on the top of the _Nemesis_. There was even a set of large double doors ahead where airborne Decepticons would likely enter or depart from. It occurred to him then that he was on top of a similar Decepticon cruiser and it did not take long for him to realise that this was Cyclonus' cruiser. He was the only one on Earth who would have such a ship, after all.

Knock Out took a look around at the crowd seated at the sides of the mostly circular and apparently makeshift "arena". That was certainly the vibe he was getting from the place. He did not like it one bit. The fact that he could barely stand without ending up hunched over in pain only compounded the awkward and life-threatening situation he had found himself in. He could transform, maybe make a drive for it. Then what? He could drive straight off the edge of the airborne cruiser and fall to his death. For the first time ever, he was actually regretting selecting a ground vehicle for his alternate form. And even if he could turn into something useful for these circumstances, he realised that in his current state he could not transform at all. Something vital had been damaged and even trying to transform now only sent pain shooting through his entire body. All those Decepticons watching him, some of whom were laughing at his sorry state, only made matters worse. He had gone through a lot of embarrassments in the past at the hands of fellow Decepticons. Being here, in his state and as the centre of attention only brought back painful memories of his time serving Megatron.

He saw Cyclonus seated at the far end. He was flanked by Bumblebee and Vortex. As Knock Out watched, he saw Bumblebee start to change, the yellow plating falling off to reveal the far darker and very much Decepticon figure underneath. Shadowstriker had been posing as Bumblebee for Primus-only-knew how long. He had changed back right in view of Knock Out, the smile he wore indicating that it had been merely to spite him. Knock Out could at least feel content with the fact that he now knew why Bumblebee had blasted him down earlier. For starters, it had not been Bumblebee who had done it. Now, though, this only lead to the awkward question of where the real Bumblebee was located and if he was even still alive?

That question was answered in short order. The double doors at the other end opened and Knock Out turned around to see what his captors had in store for him. He was surprised to see Bumblebee step out onto the top of the cruiser. There was something 'off' about the yellow Autobot, Knock Out realised. The way he walked, the fact that much of his chest had been patched over with silver metal and the way his large optics glowed a brilliant green colour. That last thing caught Knock Out's attention right away, as he recognized that kind of glow and it only took him a moment to place it to the appropriate set of memories. Behind Bumblebee was a Decepticon armed with a shock pike who was using it to coax the Autobot along.

_Synthetic energon._ Knock Out saw the large, serrated blade fixed over Bumblebee's right hand. Things began to fall together then and Knock Out could suddenly feel his spark thumping wildly in his chest. He would be nothing more than entertainment to these Decepticons. That was why they had brought him up here and that was why they had sent Bumblebee onto him.

The Decepticon with the pike sent another shock into Bumblebee's back, pushing him further ahead. He stumbled, stopping several metres ahead of Knock Out. The bright sunlight gleamed across his yellow and silver plating. Streaks of dried energon coated his form, likely his own, gained from whatever torture his captors had put him through. Knock Out looked around frantically, trying to find some means of getting away. Naturally, there were none. The Decepticon spectators were watching the pair, intrigued to see what would happen next.

"Bumblebee," Knock Out said, watching the clearly disturbed Autobot worriedly. "Try and concentrate. Get your mind above the synthetic energon. Don't let it influence you."

Bumblebee glanced behind him, only to get shocked by the Decepticon with the pike once again. The Decepticon in question, a bulky silver one, gestured towards Knock Out. Bumblebee seemed to get the message, much to Knock Out's terror. Bumblebee began to advance towards him, an abnormally crazed look in his optics.

Knock Out started to back away. He tried to activate his on-board weapons, both his cannons and his saw blades, but none worked. His captors had likely stripped him of them before leaving him here. By now the Decepticons watching started to cheer, calling on Bumblebee to "tear him apart". Knock Out found himself backing up against one wall of the arena, only for Vortex to step down near him and shove him back towards Bumblebee.

The yellow Autobot snarled as he fell within proximity and Knock Out found himself set upon by his friend, although that word was likely not well-placed in this situation. Bumblebee was amazingly strong, likely spurred on by the synthetic energon that was coursing through him. He was also alarmingly hot to the touch, more so than Knock Out knew was safe. The synthetic energon would likely lead him into some kind of 'meltdown' and burn out vital systems. This, however, implied that Bumblebee's uncontrollable state would not be for very long. How long, exactly, Knock Out had no idea. He would simply have to survive until Bumblebee collapsed.

Most of the Decepticons were cheering excitedly now. Knock Out found himself on the floor, Bumblebee on top of him. The Autobot grabbed him by the neck with one hand while he plunged his bladed one forwards. Knock Out punched with his good arm, planting the blow in Bumblebee's face. It was hard enough to cause the Autobot's blade thrust to miss his head by about an inch, sending the sharp blade into the metal of the ship underneath. Knock Out lifted one knee and plunged it into Bumblebee's stomach, causing the Autobot to snarl angrily as he fell off of him. Knock Out scrambled onto his feet, even with his legs aching as much as they were.

Knock Out caught a glance of Cyclonus seated a short distance behind him. The General watched the proceedings with a completely straight face, one hand planted to his chin as if he were in deep contemplation. Compared to the ecstatic reactions of the other Decepticons, Cyclonus looked positively relaxed.

Bumblebee jumped back onto his feet and charged for Knock Out again. The former Decepticon doctor found himself grappling with the yellow Autobot, his one good arm grabbing hold of Bumblebee's right forearm, keeping the blade fixed to it only inches from his chest.

"Bumblebee, listen to me!" Knock Out yelled, only for Bumblebee to use his other arm to punch him across the face. The blow was strong enough to momentarily daze him, sending him reeling backwards with pain shooting across his jaw and down his neck. Bumblebee lunged for him again, pinning him to the floor while he sent the jagged blade into the crudely patched hole at Knock Out's chest.

Knock Out screamed as the blade hit home. Both his hands went to Bumblebee's bladed arm, holding it back from going any deeper. The crowd had gone wild in response, with shouts and cheers erupting from many of the Decepticon spectators. All the while, Cyclonus watched with indifference.

Bumblebee pulled the blade out, squirming free of Knock Out's grip. This reprieve lasted only a second before Bumblebee sent the blade down again, sticking it straight through Knock Out's lesser armoured stomach. Knock Out could only scream again, only to be silenced when Bumblebee used his free hand to backhand him across the face. He felt something welling up in his throat and he coughed, spitting up a thick stream of energon fluid whilst more poured from both wounds. Knock Out kicked with one leg, getting Bumblebee squarely in the stomach, knocking him backwards. Through doing so, he caused Bumblebee to drag the blade through him some more as it was pulled free, causing the gash to become even longer. Knock Out put both hands to his stomach area in a futile attempt to stem the energon flow. He was convinced his guts would fall out, judging from the sizeable gash that had been cut into him.

"Finish him!" Someone shouted from the crowd. It was one among many similar cries. Knock Out slowly rose to his feet, leaving a trail of blue energon fluid in his wake. He looked to Bumblebee and then to the crowd. He considered his options, what little there were. He had certainly not expected to go out in this way. Having someone whom he had trusted murder him was something he would have expected during his time serving Megatron, not the Autobots. Bumblebee was not himself and the synthetic energon would only make him more open to suggestion from the frenzied crowds.

Knock Out looked to Bumblebee as he closed in for the kill.

"Bumblebee, please," he croaked. "This isn't you." As he spoke, energon fluid trickled out of his mouth. He coughed again, bringing up a large blob of the stuff. "Focus on me, Bumblebee. Think past the synthetic energon. Don't let it influence you."

There was a noticeable falter in Bumblebee's steps. It lasted only a moment, but it was enough of an opportunity for Knock Out to seize upon. He lunged for the unstable Autobot, grabbing his right arm. From there, he mustered all the strength he could to tear the blade free. There was a sickening crunch and Bumblebee's entire right hand came off with it, sending forth spurts of green-tinged energon fluid that splattered all over Knock Out's face and chest. Bumblebee shouted and stumbled backwards, clutching the stump of a hand. Knock Out took the blade, trying to ease the overwhelming wave of regret that washed over him as energon fluid spurted out of the ragged stump that had been left at Bumblebee's right arm.

With his opponent quite literally disarmed, Knock Out found himself at a momentary loss on what to do. He sure would not kill Bumblebee, regardless of what the Autobot had done to him. On that note, he could feel his strength waning, his wounds gradually gaining the better of him. As a doctor, he knew that he needed some serious medical attention, but he got the impression that he would not be getting it anytime soon. The Decepticons around him continued to cheer, though some seemed stunned that the fight had turned around so suddenly. Bumblebee recovered quickly, likely a result of the synthetic energon coursing through him, and lunged for Knock Out. Even with one hand, he was still able to easily tackle the Decepticon doctor to the floor before laying into him with one powerful punch after another. The blade Knock Out clutched fell from his grip and slid out of reach. The world around him began to spin, the shouts of the spectators sounding far more distant than before. The pain that each blow brought began to recede, if only because he was becoming so dazed that it was as if his nerves had ceased functioning in places.

"No more," Cyclonus barked from his chair. "End this." One of the guards raced into the arena with a shock pike and struck Bumblebee with a prolonged burst, causing the Autobot to fall off of Knock Out where he started to convulse violently. Another guard rushed over and grabbed the Autobot while he was down, wrapping a set of energon cuffs across both his arms. Knock Out was only vaguely aware of all this, as he had become enamoured with the sight of the blue sky above and the way the clouds seemed to be spinning, but only for him.

"Lock them both up," Cyclonus ordered. He rose to his feet. Knock Out tilted his head to take a better look at him, noticing that there may have been the slightest hint of disgust showing in his red optics.

Knock Out did not get much more of a chance to examine the Decepticon General further as one of the Decepticons nearby came over and grabbed him, clutching him under both arms before dragging him back into the ship. As far as Knock Out could tell, this already terrible day was only just starting. He fell into unconsciousness as the guard dragged him inside the ship.


	18. The Vault

**The Vault**

"Welcome back, Colonel Carver." The guard at the main gate only had to glance at the man in the car in front of him. There was no need for a thorough check of the Colonel's credentials.

Colonel Carver was seated in the passenger seat of a matte black four door. The car had stopped at the main gate of a large industrial compound, one located only a short drive beyond the outskirts of Las Vegas. There were several others like it scattered around, but this one in particular was probably the largest. Comprised of a number of large metal and brick buildings, the facility carried a few unrevealing signs that indicated that it was part of United Advanced Computing Solutions, UACS for short, a United States-based computer technology firm. However, if one read between the lines on the company website, they would have discovered it to have been a sub-branch of the Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency, otherwise known as DARPA. It was not a well kept secret, anyone could look DARPA up on the Internet and get an idea of what the Agency did. As for this Las Vegas facility, it was the only one of its kind and the one that the Special Reaction Taskforce worked closely with regarding their anti-alien operations. It was unofficially named 'the Vault', partly because of its vast underground floors and partly because it was currently storing some very valuable technology.

It was nearing midday now. The sun was out and the sky was nearly cloudless, so the Nevada heat was completely unfiltered. The air conditioning within the Colonel's car had managed to keep the mostly grey interior relatively cool. Carver eyed the guard at the gate through the open window, noticing the look of worry on his face.

"I heard about what happened, sir," the guard said. "The President..."

"Don't worry too much about that," Carver replied. "Things will work out. You trust me on that."

With that, he flicked a switch and the window started back up. The driver put the vehicle back into gear and took them through the now open metal gate and into the compound. There was a parking lot nearby, though Carver being the VIP he was opted for the more direct approach. The driver took the car around the large central building and towards a smaller adjoining structure with a garage door. Carver pulled a remote from his jacket and pressed the appropriate button, causing the door to slide open. Once the clearance was high enough, the driver guided the car inside and brought it to a halt.

Carver emerged from the passenger's side door. The garage here was small and mostly devoid of any decoration, save for a bench by the wall and some rusted tools. Past that was a metal door, locked with a keypad. Carver approached it and pulled his ID card from one pocket in his jacket. He swiped it through the keypad and punched in his code, the green blinking light that appeared indicating his success. He pushed open the door and stepped into the grey carpeted corridor beyond. It took him into the main building before he came to a set of locked glass double doors. On the wall by the ceiling was a surveillance camera, its lens pointed in his direction. At the other side was a desk where a bored looking security guard sat. He had been reading a newspaper when Carver appeared on the other side of the doors. The Colonel sometimes found himself irked by the sheer amount of security this place had, with security checkpoints and cameras and keypad locks seemingly every ten metres or so. Still, it was understandable and completely necessary, given the sensitive nature of some of the things that were kept here.

The guard looked up, saw the Colonel and promptly keyed in a code at the panel by his desk. The glass doors slid open and the Colonel strode in, greeting the guard curtly before moving further into the building. Carver made his way past a few guards who moved about on patrol before coming to another set of double doors. These were not locked, so he was simply able to push them wide open in order to enter the large open room beyond.

With sterile white floors, grey walls and a high ceiling, Carver had entered one of the core rooms within the Vault complex. People in white lab-coats milled about in here, among them others in grey technician uniforms and a few armed guards here and there. At the far end of the room was a modest metal door where a pair of guards stood. This door lead into the sublevels of the facility where some of the more sensitive items were kept. Up here, most of the more civilian UACS work occurred. Carver brushed past some of the scientists and technicians, most of whom were hard at work at either the computers or some civilian technology. He came to the metal door and the guards there, recognizing him, only glanced over his ID card before one of them punched in the code to open the door for him. The sign on the door read 'LEVEL 3 SECURITY CLEARANCE ONLY'. Carver had long since got himself _Level 4_ clearance, ensuring he could go anywhere he wanted in this facility.

Another long grey corridor awaited him behind the metal door. He followed it down a slight incline before it took him to a window-lined corridor that looked down upon a vast underground chamber below. From here, he could see the whole room. There were a lot of scientists below, working at computers or examining the pieces of alien technology that were planted on benches and tables about the place. Carver took a left, passing a guard on patrol. At the corner was an elevator that he took down to the chamber. Upon exiting it at the lower floor, he was almost set upon by the broad-shouldered figure of General Williamson, who had two soldiers with him as escort.

Williamson was a large man with short grey hair and a thick moustache. He was in his blue General's uniform, complete with multitude of coloured ribbons upon its chest to show off every decoration he had ever gained. Compared to Carver's modest black uniform, Williamson's was positively vibrant. Apparently the General had been waiting here a while for him, if his annoyed tone was anything to go by.

"Colonel Carver, where the hell have you been?" Williamson barked. Carver walked past him, heading towards the centre of the chamber. It was a mostly white and grey room, almost sterile in appearance. Cables snaked across the ceilings and walls while powerful air conditioning units worked overtime to keep every computer down here at a cool temperature. Williamson started to follow the Colonel, forced to knock aside a scientist in the process.

"I heard about what happened at Groom Lake," Williamson said. Carver listened, but did not do much to make it obvious. "You didn't tell me the President would..."

"Sacrifices have to be made," Carver interrupted. He had stopped at another door, this one under guard as well. He turned to face the General, raising one eyebrow slightly. He had never thought very highly of the man, he found him to be an irritating busybody and a has-been all rolled into one slightly chubby package. It seemed that some officers like Williamson did not try and keep themselves in shape once they reached the higher ranks where they would be relegated to desk work. "It's the start of a new age, General. An age of miracles. A revolution is well on its way."

"Don't give me that 'making history' crap," Williamson spat, quite literally, as a fine shower of spittle fell across Carver's face. "The President and half of his closest staff are dead. That's not what I agreed to."

Carver used his ID card at the panel by the door before punching in his code. A green light came on and Carver pushed open the door. Beyond was another grey corridor, although this one had somewhat more subdued lighting.

"You agreed to work with me," Carver said. He stepped into the corridor, with Williamson following closely behind. "I came to you with an offer, you accepted. We even shook hands."

"You told me no one would die," Williamson said. "You sure as hell didn't tell me the goddamn President would wind up dead!" He raised his voice then, his face going a bright red in colour. Carver stopped halfway down the corridor and turned around, narrowing his eyes into a scrutinising gaze.

"He was in the way," Carver replied. "What is a revolution but to sweep away the old order and usher in the new?"

Williamson audibly scoffed. He had a look of disbelief on his face. Carver found this strangely amusing. Williamson had been keen on the whole thing when Carver had first approached him about it. Obviously this business with the President had changed his mind. Not that it mattered much anymore.

"People die all the time," Carver said. "And in this situation, sacrifices must be made. Innocents will die, I'm afraid to say, but it is unavoidable." He resumed walking, turning his back to the General as he made his way down the corridor. Eventually he came to a set of double doors where two soldiers were standing guard. They stepped aside to allow Carver entry. Williamson followed, his voice almost breathless, his exasperation clear.

"This is insane," he said. Carver pushed open the doors and entered the laboratory ahead. Williamson followed him inside.

"What kind of warped deal did you make with these aliens?" Williamson demanded.

Carver regarded the laboratory before him. It was fairly large, centred around a glass case where a silver semi-circular plate-like object was contained. There were about three scientists working in here and cables snaked across the floor towards the glass chamber.

"It was a mutual agreement, to ensure that Earth and Cybertron remain independent of each other," Carver said. "I told you we would bring in a new order. You may not agree with my methods, but that is besides the point. Things are moving so quickly now that even if we did not act, things would change around us irrevocably." He turned around, watching the General carefully. The older man looked like he was close to having some sort of fit if his reddened face and wide eyes were anything to go by.

"I got rid of Fowler for you," Williamson said. "You said you could turn Darby around, but from what I've heard you've gone and arrested the guy! I got you what you wanted, and it's obvious that you've gone and squandered it. Squandered it on bizarre operations like this one while you murder innocent people."

"This is what they want, General," Carver replied, pointing towards the shield-like object inside the glass container. His voice took on a more incisive tone as he continued to speak. "We're trying to find out what it is before we hand it over. Do you think I like working with the aliens? They're a means to an end, nothing more. And when that end comes, we'll kill them all. Pure and simple. Autobots, Decepticons, it doesn't matter what side they're on. They're all the same, they're all troublemakers, they all brought their conflicts to our world and they continue to do so even now, after their war's supposed to have ended. What I'm doing, General, is making the best of a very sorry situation and I do not need some trumped-up has-been such as yourself to question my methods, or my motives for that matter. You would do well to stand back and let me, my people here and in the Taskforce, deal with the situation."

"Trumped-up has-been?" Williamson sounded furious. "I'd rather be that than a murderer, Colonel. You've crossed a line very few ever cross, and for that I'll see to it you're finished. This whole thing has gone far beyond even your control, regardless of how confident you are and how well you think it's all going. The President is dead, the government is in turmoil and you still remain convinced that this is how you bring in a 'new order'? This nation will fall apart if you keep this up, Colonel." He did not even say goodbye. Instead, he turned around and stormed out of the room.

Carver knew better. Williamson would not blow the lid on this whole thing, as it would only implicate himself. He was just as likely to end up in a federal prison or being prepped for lethal injection as Carver was.

"Colonel Carver," one of the scientists said from behind him. He turned around to face the scientist, an Asian man in his thirties who had been working here since the beginning of the project. "I did not expect to see you today." If he had heard what had been spoken of between Carver and Williamson, he did not show it, or he simply knew better than to stick his nose into business that was not his own.

"Any progress?" Carver asked.

"The ancient Cybertronian on the back has been partially translated," the scientist said. The name-tag on his white lab-coat read 'CHUNG'. "There is a name. Nova Prime. We're not able to make sense of much else. It may take some more time."

"Keep it up," Carver replied. He walked over to a phone on the wall and picked it up, dialling in a familiar and often-called number. Dr. Chung returned to his work while Carver put the phone to his ear.

"Van Cleef, it's Carver. Listen carefully." Carver kept his voice low. "I have a very sensitive job for you. Get a team together. There's a problem going around and I need it taken care of. Yes, you know who. I expect results within the next twenty-four hours. And try to keep this one low-key." He hung up the phone then, feeling nothing. Why should he? He had spent months planning everything. Trying to play nice with a bunch of Decepticons had been the last thing he had wanted to do, but often one had to do things they did not like in order to get actual results. And, in the end, those same Decepticons would pay the price.

"Doctor Chung," Carver called, getting the scientist's attention. "You probably won't have much longer with that thing." He gestured towards the relic in the glass chamber. "So you better get working harder, understood? I want to find out just what is so important about this thing before our alien friends come knocking."

Chung nodded. He was a reliable sort, an American-born physicist who had worked on a number of sensitive projects. Carver had chosen him personally for this project, given his experience and expertise on such matters. Something Unit-E had neglected to realise, during its heyday, that the messes they and their Autobot friends made would be cleaned up. Decepticon remains had to be transported and disposed of in accordance to an agreement that had been made with Optimus Prime over a decade ago. However, some of those items had been "misplaced". Some had found their way to Colonel Carver, although back then the Taskforce had not existed. They had been something else, something far above top secret. A 'clean-up crew', so-to-speak. To say that Carver was 'pleased' with how far they had come since then was an understatement.


	19. Escalation

**Escalation**

"Are you feeling better?"

Wheeljack did not feel much better, but it was good to see that his wounds had been somewhat patched up. There was still a hole at his shoulder where he had been hit, but it was no longer leaking energon so freely. The pain was still enough to cause him to grit his metal teeth and he found his left arm was no longer quite so mobile. This would put a crimp into anything he had planned for the rest of the day, especially since he had no desire to remain in this cell. Humans keeping him captive? That was a first. And it would be the last time it happened, he would make sure of it.

He stood by the back wall of the cell and he returned Skystreaker's curious, if condescending, gaze. Behind her, the energy beams glowed brightly over the exits. Every other wall was reinforced with concrete and steel, far more than even Wheeljack was able to break through. His on-board cannons were gone, leaving him with only his hands and not even his swords. The Taskforce had been thorough when they had brought him in. They had known exactly how to put him out of commission and how to ensure that he was vulnerable.

"I'm feeling fine, thanks," Wheeljack replied.

"You don't sound very grateful." Skystreaker tilted her head slightly, raising an optic ridge as she did so. "Then again, you don't look like the type who'd be grateful for anything."

"Neither do you," Wheeljack said. Being stuck in a cell with this Decepticon for as long as he had was already sending him over the edge. She was always just such a smart-aft.

"Were you dropped on the head when you were a youngling?" Skystreaker asked. The question sounded sincere. "It would explain a lot of things."

"I can't even remember that far back," Wheeljack said. He stepped past her before coming to a stop at the doorway. With one hand, he tentatively touched one of the beams of energy. It burned him upon his touch, sending a stinging pain through his hand that caused him to snap the digit right back.

"Well, I didn't exactly have a good sparkling-hood either," Skystreaker said. Wheeljack became aware that she was watching him carefully, her gaze taking in the whole of his form. He turned around, shooting her a smile.

"You like what you see?" He asked.

"And you're a sleaze as well," Skystreaker added, disdain in her voice. "I should have guessed."

"Just curious, is all." Wheeljack looked around the mostly empty cell. It was practically a solid block set within the old warehouse-type building. The Taskforce took no chances with its alien prisoners, from the look of the place. Being locked up in this fashion was not a first for Wheeljack and he liked to think that no cell could contain him for long. That did not necessarily make it true. It was simply fanciful thinking on his part.

"I wouldn't want to give you a compliment," Skystreaker said. "It would probably get to your head. It's already big enough as it is."

"You don't exactly strike me as the 'modest' type, either," Wheeljack replied. He wracked his mind for something, anything that might give him the chance to escape. However, his train of thought was effectively derailed when a familiar voice sounded from the other side of the energy barrier, causing him to turn around.

"Hey, Wheeljack." Jack Darby stood on the other side of the energy beams, looking up at the Autobot Wrecker with a remorseful gaze. He had a cut on his forehead and his clothes and face were dirty. This was no doubt a result of the scuffle he had had with the Taskforce operatives over at the gas station.

"Hey, kid." Wheeljack looked down at him. It was apparent Jack thought himself responsible for what had happened. "Don't get so broken up over this. This ain't your fault."

"I could have done more to stop them," Jack said.

"Like what? Start shooting? I did that and look at what happened to me." He gestured with one hand to the crudely patched wound at his chest. "As much as I like the 'guns blazing' approach, I think we should at least try and be a bit more subtle next time."

"You? Subtle?" Jack shook his head. Even Wheeljack had not been entirely faithful with that statement.

"Yeah, you're right. I'm kidding myself." Wheeljack regarded the energy beams in front of him once more. There had to be some kind of flaw somewhere. These humans could not possibly be _this_ advanced. It had only been nine of their years since he had last made any significant trip here. Not a lot had changed, certainly nothing blatant. The Taskforce and the technology it had at its disposal stuck out the most. He was already pondering the reasons as to why this might have been the case. Reverse-engineering Decepticon technology came to mind immediately. That was the most obvious possibility of them all.

"I talked with the Colonel earlier," Jack said. "He thinks you, and all the other Autobots for that matter are terrorists. No better than the Decepticons, apparently."

"Yeah, I did get the impression that guy had it in for us." Wheeljack leaned forwards slightly, doing his best to see around the energy beams and into the rest of the building. There was a table by the wall to the right where a bored looking guard stood on watch. Wheeljack's one remaining sword was laid across it. He recalled losing the other one at the gas station and became immediately annoyed at having done so. It had been a long time since he had misplaced either of his blades in any way.

"Jack, listen up," Wheeljack said, returning his gaze to the human. "I can't stay in here. I can't go along with whatever messed up plan that Colonel has for me. I need you to let me out."

"They'll probably shoot me for doing that," Jack said.

"Yeah, they probably would." Wheeljack did not want to see Jack hurt. This Taskforce had done enough damage to prove that it was not all it was cracked up to be, in regards to its true agenda. "Now that I think about it, I might be able to let myself out." He took a step back from the doorway while Jack watched him carefully, trying to work out what it was he had in mind. He would have some difficulty in that, for not even Wheeljack knew exactly what he was going to do.

"I suppose if I bust out of here," Wheeljack said, glancing down at Jack, "You'll tag along? Get yourself into even more trouble?"

Jack smiled, nodding slowly. He looked over to the guard by the table who was watching him, although it was hard to tell whether he could hear everything that was being said from over there.

"Probably," Jack replied.

"Good to hear."

* * *

It had not taken much for Ultra Magnus to pinpoint the source of Jack's phone call. Fowler had suggested they find him, as their search for Bumblebee had not gained any proper leads. Now they were driving up to the main gate of some kind of military compound, one Fowler had not even known existed. Way out here, the only thing for miles in any direction was desert.

Even with the air conditioning switched on within the driver's cabin of Ultra Magnus' vehicle form, Fowler found himself sweating a great deal. With the driver's side window open and his jacket off, Fowler consistently shifted about in his seat in his attempts to find some comfort. He was seated in a pool of his own ass sweat and his shirt, even with the tie loosened, clung to his skin awkwardly.

Ultra Magnus brought them to a halt at the main gate. An armed guard approached the driver's side window and Fowler, wiping the sweat from his brow with one sleeve, rolled down the window and peered out at the guard.

"Afternoon, sir," Fowler said, doing his best to sound friendly. "I'm Agent Fowler, with the DIA." He reached into a pocket in his trousers and pulled out his wallet. From there, he flashed his Defence Intelligence Agency ID. The guard eyed it carefully, a perplexed look crossing his face.

"We weren't expecting anyone from the DIA to arrive," the guard said. Another guard, this one standing in the small glass booth by the gate, had picked up a small metal device from the desk and appeared to be toying with it. A red light was flashing on the end and Fowler, catching a glimpse of it from the driver's cabin, realised quickly what it was.

"I'm looking for someone," he said, keeping his tone level. "An Agent Jack Darby. A friend of mine. He's supposed to be here."

"I'm not at liberty to say who's here and who isn't, Agent Fowler."

"Whatever security clearance I need, I probably have just by being with the DIA," Fowler said. "Now, you call your boss or whoever it is who runs this place and you tell him that Agent Fowler is here and that there's going to be hell to pay if the guards here, you among them, start screwing him around. I got friends in high places. I could have you transferred to Alaska." It had been a long time since Fowler had needed to lie so unashamedly. He was not terribly surprised when the guard put on an unconvinced look, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly curled.

"I'm sure you do, Agent Fowler," he said. "But you are right about one thing. I will call my superior. I'll be a moment." The guard turned around and started for the guard booth. Once there, he began speaking with the other guard, the one who had been fiddling with the scanner. Fowler waited in the driver's cabin, a warm breeze working its way inside through the open window.

"You thinking what I'm thinking, Magnus?" Fowler asked.

_"What would that be?"_ Ultra Magnus' voice filtered through the speakers at the dashboard.

"That we're about to get into some serious shit."

* * *

Wheeljack had been distracted all this time by the negotiation, by catching up with old acquaintances and now most recently by his arrest and detainment by a pack of heavily armed humans. He had almost completely forgotten about the hold-out pistol he had found on Cybertron, the one he had stuffed under one section of his armour at his back. That was what such weapons were for; they were designed to be difficult to detect and small enough to properly conceal without the need for any transforming.

"Take a few steps back, Jack," Wheeljack said. The human obeyed, if somewhat cautiously, and started to put some distance between him and the doorway with its energy beams across it. Skystreaker took a step towards the Autobot Wrecker, a startled look on her face.

"What the hell are you going to do?" She asked.

Wheeljack hit the release on that one section of his armour and pulled the small pistol out from underneath. Slamming the armour plating back in place, he showed her the pistol and smiled broadly. Skystreaker glared at him with a mix of anger and amusement.

"You're kidding," she spat.

"Not at all."

Wheeljack pointed the pistol towards the doorway, shifting his aim towards the sides of it. He did this quickly, knowing full well that he was being watched through a surveillance camera. He was glad he had packed this little gun away when he had, otherwise his situation would have been far more dire.

He fired, the white beam lancing forth, shearing into the metal. One of the emitters was struck, exploding into a shower of sparks while the energy beam emanating from it shut off abruptly. He fired another shot, striking another of the emitters embedded in the walls. This one also exploded violently, causing a chain reaction that caused all of the others to erupt in sparks and smoke. Outside, the guards were immediately alerted by the noise and the one standing by the table began to rush forwards.

Jack stepped just out of his way, only to strike the guard in the side of the head as he came within reach. He went down abruptly, landing in a heap on the floor. The emitters destroyed, Wheeljack stepped out of the detainment area and went for the table where his one remaining sword was located. Skystreaker followed him, surveying the area ahead cautiously.

Wheeljack snatched up his sword, just as a trio of guards raced into the building. They had their weapons raised and were quick to start shooting. Jack dived behind a table as bullets zipped by, pinging off of the armoured Cybertronians. Skystreaker ducked against the hail of bullets whereas Wheeljack, with the pistol in one hand, sent a shot towards the trio. It struck the floor in front of one of them, knocking aside two of the three while the other stumbled under the shower of debris.

* * *

The sound of the gunshots and explosion were quite audible out where Fowler and Ultra Magnus were. As soon as the distant shootout started, someone somewhere raised an alarm. Fowler knew then that he had reached the point of no return. He could turn around a leave, an option he had no real desire to take, or he could head in and likely antagonise a black ops organization. It was obvious which option Ultra Magnus was going to take.

"That's probably Wheeljack," Ultra Magnus said, his voice filtering through the speakers on the dashboard. "We have to help him."

Fowler took a deep breath. He could sometimes feel his age, the way his muscles would ache, or his back would, or even how his joints would not move quite as smoothly as they once used to. And sometimes he worried about his heart, and his weight in turn, for he was not the most physically fit man around. He had been in the US Army Rangers when he had been younger, back then he had been the pinnacle of male fitness. Now, he was a chubby middle-aged man who had difficulty running even half the distance he had used to when he had been in the Rangers. To get dragged into something like this, at this point in his life, was likely going to take a significant toll on his health. Still, he was not a selfish man. There were Autobots who needed his help, even Jack likely needed his help, and he was not about to turn around and leave them in the hands of this questionable black ops group.

"Floor it," Fowler said.

"What?"

_"Floor it."_ Fowler put both hands against the dashboard the steady himself. "We're going in."

Ultra Magnus complied by flooring his accelerator, sending himself roaring forwards and into the metal gate ahead. One of the guards dived out of the way, somersaulting as the massive blue truck came speeding past. It connected with the metal gate with a loud _crash_, tearing it off its moorings. The gate itself rolled off of the front of the truck, getting caught under the tires where it caused the entire vehicle to lurch violently. Fowler lost his grip on the dashboard and stumbled around in his seat. Ultra Magnus went speeding into the compound, wheels kicking up a thick cloud of dust. Behind him, the guards at the gate started shooting, submachine gun and assault rifle bullets pounding into the Autobot's rear. The window behind Fowler shattered, sending glass all over him. He ducked down, his heart pounding in his chest.

"They're shooting at us!" He shouted.

"Your grasp of the obvious is inspiring, Agent Fowler." Ultra Magnus' tone was dry. It was not often this Autobot ever showed any semblance of actual humour.

"Aren't you 'Bots supposed to have bulletproof windows?" Fowler shouted. Up ahead, he watched as Ultra Magnus came to a corner. Here, about half a dozen armed guards had taken positions, all of whom started shooting. Fowler threw himself across the passenger seat as the bullets came flying in, peppering the windshield with holes before the whole thing fell apart seconds later. Glass rained down upon him once again and Ultra Magnus, ever the expert driver, quickly changed gears and sent his entire truck form screeching around the bend.

Fowler had a pistol with him, a standard issue SIG P228 chambered for the .40 S&amp;W round. It was in a holster within his jacket and, still lying sprawled across both seats within the driver's cabin, he considered pulling it out. However, surely returning fire would only make matters worse? He had no desire to kill any of these guys, especially since the situation was not as clear as he would have preferred it to be. Even so, his combat training told him to shoot back, as it seemed the sane thing to do.

The doors of one of the larger buildings ahead blew open then and Wheeljack, followed by a female Decepticon neither Fowler or Ultra Magnus had ever seen before, came running out. Fowler peered through the broken windshield and watched as the pair came under immediate fire from the guards who were dotted around the area. Wheeljack carried a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other. He did not hesitate to shoot back at the humans and Fowler watched as one of them was sent flying into the wall of a nearby building by the force of a shot from Wheeljack's gun.

Ultra Magnus slowed down then and the driver's side door opened. Fowler took it as his cue to get out. He jumped out of the moving vehicle, somersaulting clumsily. Ultra Magnus transformed then, coming to a halt in the middle of the open area in full biped form. He came under instant fire from the guards. One of them even took a shot at Fowler and the ageing Agent was spurred along into cover when the bullets started pounding into the ground near him. He dived behind a parked Jeep, its windshield shattering under the heavy fire. Yet more glass rained on him, getting all through his hair and under his clothing.

_I'm going to need a shower after this,_ he thought absently. He remained prone behind the vehicle, looking straight ahead to one of the smaller buildings nearby. The door of it flung open and an armed guard in black combat gear came running out. He saw Fowler and went to raise his submachine gun. Fowler, with no other option, raised his pistol and fired off three shots, all of which caught the guard in the chest and sent him tumbling down the small flight of steps at the base of the door.

_Now I'm really in the shit.  
_

* * *

Wheeljack was surprised to see Ultra Magnus, but he was also somewhat grateful. It was a gratitude he would never really reveal to the Autobot Commander, of course.

"You've got great timing, chief," Wheeljack said. He crouched by one of the smaller buildings, the constant stream of bullets from the human guards stinging him in places. Most of them had fallen back, presumably to make way for the bigger guns. He had no desire to stay for them.

Ultra Magnus was out in the open and he was currently taking fire from a bunch of guards. Some of the bullets stung, but otherwise they did little against him other than scratch his finish. By now the entire compound was on high alert and the roar of engines could be heard, from both the vehicles racing towards them now and the helicopter that had taken to the air from a helipad at the far end of the compound.

Wheeljack stepped forwards, taking a shot at one pair of guards. The blast hit the small building behind them, causing the entire thing to explode into flame. Fragments of wood and metal rained down all around for some distance. The guards turned and ran, just as a pair of armoured Jeeps came speeding into view from another section of the compound. Both had large machine guns fitted to them, each manned by a soldier. Both started firing as soon as they came into view.

Wheeljack moved behind the smaller building as the withering hail of bullets hit home. Pieces of the structure were torn asunder by the stream of fire. Some of the rounds struck him in more sensitive places, hurting him despite his sturdy form. The small grey building he had ducked behind was riddled with holes within seconds, with the door being torn from its hinges where it ungracefully fell down a short set of steps and landed in the sand below.

"We can't stay here!" Skystreaker shouted. She was unarmed and had taken to crouching by the building they had escaped from. There was little significant cover for individuals of their stature.

Wheeljack paid her little notice as he watched as Jack stumbled behind a parked car, the human's eyes wide as some of the bullets zipping about struck the windows of the vehicle. He dived to the ground, effectively pinned, while the Taskforce operatives shooting at them did little to discern their targets. Autobot or human, it did not matter as long as the hostile elements were eliminated. At least the humans and Cybertronians had this much in common, Wheeljack glumly noted: they were both more than willing to kill their own.

Ultra Magnus had not packed any weapons for this trip to Earth. After all, he had assumed it would be a peaceful negotiation and the last thing he had expected was to be shot at by a bunch of humans. As a result, he could do little but take the fire as he worked his way down one of the side lines, keeping low as the two armoured Jeeps turned their attention towards him. Both resumed firing, sending a literal stream of rounds his way. The smaller structures near him were torn apart and visible marks were left on his armour as he ran, before he finally dived behind one of the larger and longer brick structures which provided somewhat more effective cover.

Wheeljack spotted Fowler across the way, crouched behind a Jeep. The human carried a pistol and that probably made him the most prepared member of the group. Nearby, a pair of guards had emerged, one of them wielding an Anti-Material Cannon. Wheeljack recognized the type of weapon right away, as it was the same sort that had left a rather sizeable hole in his chest. Fowler saw the two and was at such an angle as to be on their flank. Neither operative checked for the human hostile who had fallen into their midst.

Wheeljack glanced back at Skystreaker.

"Can you transform?" He asked her.

"I think so," she replied. "I haven't got any weapons, if that's what you're wondering."

"We're going to make a break for the exit," Wheeljack said. "Just be prepared. Follow us from up high, you'll be our eye in the sky." Wheeljack was interrupted by the _thump-thump_ of two large calibre weapons, an oddly familiar sound. Two sizeable explosions erupted near him, powerful enough to knock him over.

As he recovered, his optics fell upon Deadeye who had stepped into view some distance behind him. Wheeljack raised his pistol and let off a shot, causing Deadeye to dive and then roll as the beam shot by him and struck the side of a brick building, blowing half of it away. Wheeljack rose to his feet, aware that the helicopter he had heard earlier was now hovering right in view. While Deadeye scrambled for cover, Wheeljack shifted his aim at the helicopter. The pilot must have seen his movement, since the rocket pods on the black helicopter let fly with a pair of missiles. Wheeljack stood his ground and sent a beam straight through the helicopter's windshield. The missiles connected with the ground in front of him, knocking him backwards. He fell against the mostly shot-up building he had been taking cover behind, although his weight was enough to bring it down completely, chunks of masonry falling all around him.

The helicopter exploded, its flaming hulk falling from the sky before it landed on the large grey-brick administration building. By now, the non-combat personnel were now evacuating. Somewhere else within the compound, Wheeljack realised, someone had given the call for reinforcements. There would likely be a whole army coming down on the place in short order.

Fowler stood up and started along the rows of smaller buildings. Most of the Taskforce soldiers had fallen back and the two setting up the large Anti-Material Cannon had failed to notice him. Fowler stepped into cover behind one of the buildings, only to almost literally walk into a guard. There was a brief moment's surprise on both of their faces before Fowler fired a shot a split-second before the guard did. The guard fell backwards, a hole through his chest, while the grip on his UMP-45 submachine gun tightened and the thing started firing wildly into the air as he hit the ground. Fowler turned to the two up ahead working the portable Anti-Material Cannon. Both turned around in response to the noise, one of them bringing the oversized rifle to bear. Fowler took aim and emptied the rest of his pistol's magazine in their direction. Both soldiers twitched and convulsed as they were struck by multiple rounds before they fell into heaps on the sandy ground underfoot. Up ahead, Fowler watched as the two machine-gun fitted Jeeps turned their weapons in his general direction.

"Goddamn it," he muttered. He turned and started running, jumping behind the nearest structure as the two mini-guns opened up. Bullets tore into the ground near him and ripped holes through the wooden and metal structure, all the while Fowler remained face-down on the ground, hands over his head as splinters of wood and sprinkles of dirt showered upon him.

Wheeljack stood up then, aware that Deadeye had moved out of view. He turned around and took a shot at one of the Jeeps, striking it in the side. The whole vehicle erupted into flame, its flaming shell rolling over, trailing black smoke. The other Jeep was caught in the explosion, becoming coated in flames. The gunner climbed out, alight and screaming, before he fell to the ground and began to roll around frantically.

Ultra Magnus emerged from around the hangar-like building ahead. He was promptly shot from behind, falling down with a smoking hole blown in his upper back. He groaned audibly as Deadeye stepped into view.

Wheeljack shifted his aim towards Deadeye but the Autobot responded with alarming speed, sending a shot his way that caused the pistol to explode in his grip, leaving a painful burn across his right hand. Wheeljack stumbled, his left hand still holding onto his sword. Skystreaker, who stood off to his left, rather suddenly transformed. She took the shape of a sleek and silver Cybertronian jet before hitting the afterburners. He was almost knocked over by the force of the powerful engines at such close proximity. Skystreaker went soaring high into the air, presumably in an effort to save her own backside.

_Should have expected as much,_ Wheeljack thought.

Deadeye started to walk across the open area, clouds of smoke wafting around him. Wheeljack stood up, holding his sword defiantly. Deadeye did not appear to have any remorse on his face as he raised one of his pistols. He was more or less in with the Taskforce, regardless of what they did to his fellow Autobot.

"You're a real asshole, you know that?" Wheeljack spat. If Deadeye had any bearings of his own, he would turn against this Taskforce just as readily as Wheeljack had.

Deadeye looked as if he were about to reply when a loud _thump_ resounded from nearby. There was an explosion at his arm and the pistol fell from his grasp. Deadeye was knocked backwards, landing on his backside, emitting a pained shout as he did so. A trail of grey smoke billowed from the newly created hole in his armour. Wheeljack, both surprised and somewhat amused, turned his head to the right to search for the source of the shot.

His optics fell upon Fowler, who had emerged from behind a concrete barrier holding an Anti-Material Cannon, presumably the one dropped by the two operatives he had dispatched only moments ago. The end of the barrel was smoking and Fowler, a man who normally looked tidy, was covered in dirt and glass while his white shirt and pants were torn up, dirtied and scorched in places.

"Stop wasting time, Wheeljack," Fowler called to the Autobot Wrecker. "Transform. We're getting out of here."

Ultra Magnus had gotten back on his feet, albeit slightly hunched over from his injury. He quickly transformed and Wheeljack did the same, taking the brief lull in the fighting to do so. The guards were likely waiting on reinforcements and were presumably in the process of locking down the entire compound. There were several spreading out along the gate nearby, set into the eastern perimeter. Even from here, Wheeljack could see that at least one of them carried a rocket launcher and another carried an Anti-Material Cannon.

_That ain't going to help them,_ Wheeljack thought. He opened his doors and both Fowler and Jack climbed inside. Both sensibly fastened their seatbelts. Fowler laid the large Anti-Material Cannon across his lap, with the barrel pointing out the window, given its length.

Wheeljack floored the accelerator and started for the gate. Ultra Magnus followed a short distance behind. Fowler pulled his pistol, changing the magazine for a fresh one. The guards spread out up ahead started firing and bullets pounded into the windshield. Jack ducked underneath the dashboard as the entire thing shattered, showering him and Fowler with glass. Wheeljack felt a slight sting as the glass gave way. He pressed on nonetheless, even with the hail of bullets landing across his front. Fowler popped off a few shots from his pistol before he threw himself below the dashboard, bullets striking the headrest of his seat and blowing foam chunks out of it. Wheeljack went speeding past the guards, sending one of them diving out of the way. The Autobot went full throttle into the gate, tearing it off of its moorings upon impact which sent the entire thing scraping over the top of him. It clanked down his rear before landing on the asphalt behind, only to be promptly run over and deformed by Ultra Magnus who went speeding in his wake.

The pair of Autobots in their vehicle modes maintained their speeds as they left the blacktop and began along a dirt road. A plume of sand was kicked up in their wake and with each passing second they put more distance between them and the Taskforce compound. However, their enemies did not give up easily. Two armoured black all-terrain vehicles, sleek and fitted with machine guns from over the rear, appeared in view further behind, rushing off of a dirt road. "Rally Fighters", as they were known, made for agile movement and easy handling over uneven terrain. The gunners on each car did not waste any time opening fire. Bullets pinged the rear of Ultra Magnus, an utter hail of lead that sent sparks flying.

"They're going to be on our ass the whole way," Fowler said. He had maintained a cool head throughout, likely a result of his training in his time spent in the US Army Rangers. Wheeljack could certainly admire the human's steadfastness. As for Jack, he was doing his best to remain straight-faced, even if the situation was somewhat unlike anything he had found himself in before.

Both Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus turned off of the dirt-road, crossing a freeway and sending one passing semi-trailer swerving. Both Taskforce Rally Fighters remained close on their tails, mini-guns blazing.

"Where are we going?" Jack asked, his hands going for the dashboard in an attempt to steady himself. Wheeljack sent them bouncing over uneven desert plains, both occupants being lurched about in their seats, even with the seatbelts on.

Fowler suddenly hefted the long Anti-Material Cannon along in both hands as he leaned out of the window, setting the weapon on top of the vehicle while he leaned outside. "Hold my legs." He glanced over to Jack, who quickly did as he was told, grasping the older man's legs as to keep him from falling out.

Fowler picked up the heavy Anti-Material Cannon with both hands, holding it to his shoulder as he attempted to take aim at one of the pursuing vehicles. Ultra Magnus moved off to the side upon seeing the human take aim. Wheeljack did his best to keep the ride steady, but the desert terrain was far from even. Further ahead were some low hills, so crossing over those would likely only complicate matters.

Fowler fired a shot from the cannon, sending one of the armour-piercing rounds into the sand a few metres to the right of one of the pursuing Rally Fighters. There was an explosion of dirt and sand that rained down all over the vehicle. It swerved slightly but continued its pursuit, with the gunner shifting his aim in Wheeljack's direction. Ultra Magnus reacted then, transforming rapidly, his momentum carrying him forwards as he came to stand upon both feet. He turned to face the Rally Fighter, dragging a trail in the sand, before he dived forwards and swept one arm towards the all-terrain vehicle.

The whole thing was sent flying, the driver being launched through the windscreen. Ultra Magnus absorbed the impact with only a slight stumble, totalling the vehicle as it was sent flying, flipping end-over-end. The gunner fell out and landed harshly in the sand. He was still alive, albeit for about five seconds before the second Rally Fighter drove right over him, the driver with little time to react otherwise

The second Taskforce Rally Fighter shot past Ultra Magnus, its minigun blazing. Fowler shifted his aim with the Anti-Material Cannon, firing off another shot. This one hit the ground ahead of the vehicle, launching dirt and sand across the front of the vehicle. The Rally Fighter came roaring through it, bouncing over a slight rise. Ultra Magnus reverted to his vehicle mode and fell into pursuit.

Fowler adjusted his aim, attempting to take into account the movement of both his vehicle and his target. It was hard enough shooting from a moving vehicle, firing at another moving vehicle was another thing entirely. Taking a deep breath, he peered through the cannon's scope and exhaled. His finger fell upon the trigger and the weapon buckled backwards in his grip as it fired, the noise of the shot almost deafening. It echoed all throughout the desert plain, as did the sound of the ensuing explosion as the round went through the windshield of the Taskforce Rally Fighter. A plume of smoke and flame shot out of the car's middle, shearing it in half. One of the tires went flying high while the two halves went sliding some distance, smoke pluming out of both.

Wheeljack went over a sharp rock, causing his entire frame to lurch abruptly. Fowler felt himself almost fall out of the vehicle, his grip on the cannon failing, sending it clattering along the rocky desert floor. Jack clutched his legs tightly before he dragged the older man back inside.

"Nice shooting," Wheeljack commented.

There was an awkward silence then, one that lasted longer than the Autobot Wrecker was comfortable with. It was broken by the roar of a jet engine. Both Fowler and Jack looked up through the mostly broken windshield, watching the visibly Cybertronian jet shoot overhead.

"The bitch is back," Wheeljack said aloud. It seemed almost typical for Skystreaker to show up now, after the action was over. Still, it indicated that she at least needed their help and she likely realised that her chances of survival would be far better if she stuck with the Autobots. Skystreaker circled back around then, buzzing the two travelling Autobots.

"Where the hell are we going?" Jack asked. He sounded both frustrated and afraid, though he did a good job of hiding the latter. "We just shot up a military compound. That's not something we can just drive away from."

"Just keep driving, Wheeljack," Fowler said. He sat back in his seat, his heart still pounding in his chest. So much so that it kind of hurt. "Find us someplace we can lay low for a while." With that, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, presumably in an effort to get some rest. Jack crossed his arms, his expression a conflicted one, before he simply sat back and started gazing out of the window.

It was only about one o'clock in the afternoon. Today, Wheeljack realised, would be a very long day judging from the way things had been going.


	20. Fugitives

**Fugitives**

Captain Van Cleef had seen a lot of things during his life, first in the South African military, and then its Special Forces and finally here and now in the Special Reaction Taskforce. He had not, however, seen a small group of hostiles completely and utterly ruin a heavily secured compound. That was a first, a first he would very much like to avoid happening again (though, granted, it would no longer be a "first" if it did happen again). He stood in the parking lot by the main gate while about half a dozen Taskforce operatives milled about, picking through the rubble. A trio of medical personnel rushed by, two of them carrying a stretcher between them. From what Van Cleef could see, the operative sprawled along it was suffering from some nasty looking burns.

Fires burned about the compound and the air stunk of scorched metal and burning fuel. Emergency response teams were working on putting out some of the flames, but there was simply too much damage for it to come under any significant control anytime soon. Van Cleef was remarkably calm given the circumstances. He had been tasked with keeping this place secure and so far he had failed, although he knew it was through no fault of his own. Had the Colonel supplied him with more troops and more vehicles they might have been able to contain the Cybertronian prisoners properly. That, and a certain Autobot should have done his job better as well.

Deadeye sat nearby, his backside parked on a stack of metal containers while he used some kind of small beam emitter to patch up his injuries. Namely, it was the gaping hole that had been blown into his right arm that was the focus of his concern. He had even lost a pistol in the engagement earlier, leaving him stuck with one of his regular slug-throwers and the old blaster he had confiscated from Skystreaker. Van Cleef found Deadeye's penchant for dual-wielding amusing. This Autobot's exposure to Earth popular culture had likely influenced his overall combat technique.

"What the hell happened, tin man?" Van Cleef asked. Deadeye glanced at him, his blue optics displaying only vague interest. He switched off the repair beam emitter and flexed his right arm, a pained wince crossing his face as his wound sent a sharp sting along the limb. "You're supposed to be better than this, aren't ya?"

"I was caught by surprise," Deadeye replied. He turned his head to look down at the Captain, his metal features showing a fairly flat expression. "Let me guess: You've never been caught by surprise before?"

"Shouldn't you be out there pursuing them?" Van Cleef asked. He gestured with one arm towards the wrecked main gate and the desert beyond it.

"The Autobots are hiding their signals," Deadeye stated matter-of-factly. "Standard procedure and there's very little I can do to track them. Unless you can get an energon detector within range then we'll never be able to find them."

"Then go out there and start searching," Van Cleef ordered. Deadeye raised an optic ridge, apparently amused at the Captain's orders. "Go on, you lousy heap of metal. Get out there and do your fucking job."

"There's not a whole lot of point," Deadeye said. "Your people have the energon detectors. Start deploying them. I've only got the one on me as it is."

Van Cleef sighed. He had not joined the Taskforce just so he could deal with a smug and uptight alien robot. With a dismissive shake of his head, he turned around and walked away, leaving the Autobot to his own devices. There was still plenty else that needed doing around here, much of it far more pressing than arguing with Deadeye.

His cell-phone began to ring and vibrate. Van Cleef stopped where he was and pulled it from his pocket. The display showed that it was Colonel Carver calling, an unsurprising development. The Captain accepted the call and placed the phone to his ear, awaiting the inevitable verbal barrage. Instead, he heard a rather reserved Carver on the other end of the line.

_"I heard what happened,"_ he said. _"Tell me, Captain, what kind of setback are we facing?"_

"It's not really much of a 'setback'," Van Cleef replied. He watched as a pair of soldiers walked by him, carrying the burnt out remains of a car's engines between them. "We have about fourteen dead and twenty-five wounded. The compound's a bladdy mess, of course. I'd say it's the property damage expenses we should be more worried about."

_"How many Autobots were there?"_

"The one we had detained and another that showed up with that fat agent, Fowler. And then there was the 'Con we brought in last night. The three of them got away, as did Fowler and Agent Darby." Van Cleef paused for a moment, pondering what to say next. There was a comment here he wanted to make, yet he could not be certain how well it would be received by the Colonel. Nonetheless, he continued: "I thought you said Darby wouldn't be a problem? That he'd be on our side? Because, and if you don't mind me saying, boss, he's kind of become a problem now."

_"His loyalty to the Autobots is as strong as ever, it seems. It doesn't matter. I'm about to begin a press conference. Those Autobots, and both Fowler and Darby, essentially launched a terrorist attack against a military installation within the United States of America. And this only hours after the President's assassination by another alien terrorist. That's what they all are now, Captain. Terrorists. They will be treated as such."_

"And what about Cyclonus? You still going to go along with what he said? You still going to give him what he wants?"

_"Not yet. The Decepticon General and his cronies will have to wait a while longer. They may even have to wait until the current problem is taken care of. And that's what I want you to do, Captain. Take care of this problem. Utilise anything you have at your disposal. You'll be getting plenty more support in about an hour's time, once this press conference is over. Trust me on that."_

Van Cleef did not care much for Carver's politics or his plans regarding such things. He was only really concerned with what had happened now and how a few very dangerous individuals had escaped his grasp. He did not need to be told to go after them. He was already in the process of arranging a coordinated hunt.

"I'll get the bunch of them, Colonel," Van Cleef replied. "You can bet on that. I think I know how to draw them out. Just give me an hour."

_"I know I can depend on you, Captain. Just ensure that you are careful. It is a very sensitive situation we have right now. Those Autobots, along with Darby and Fowler, can potentially become a spanner in the works. Right now, they are a nuisance. Keep them from getting any worse than that."_

"Of course, Colonel."

Carver hung up then. Van Cleef put the phone away on his end and looked over to the group of nearby operatives. He motioned them over, ordering them to acquire and ready up as many energon detectors as possible. Van Cleef had hunted big game in the past, mostly in Africa. Stalking one's prey before delivering the final kill always gave him a unique thrill, one that would very easily translate over to hunting down Autobots and humans. To have the power of life and death over something, it just felt so _good_. And no prey escaped from his grasp.

* * *

_"...we are not alone in the universe. This alien force has been among us for well over a decade and have been watching us, plotting against us and have now revealed themselves through an all-out attack upon this nation, and upon humanity in general. The evidence is there for all to see. The death of the President at the hands of these alien terrorists has hailed in a new era, for better or for worse, and that humanity must make a stand in the face of this grave threat, lest it be swept from the face of this Earth. A state of emergency has been declared across the whole of the nation and the UN Security Council will be convening in short order to discuss the next course of action, as this new threat is not only directed against our nation, but to humanity as a species. Earth must become stalwart in the face of alien aggressors. And they are not without outside help. Humans in collusion with them also exist and must be captured and put to justice accordingly..."_

Jack watched a few close-ups of him and Agent Fowler flash up upon the screen while Colonel Carver's speech from earlier was replayed for the umpteenth time on what was apparently most channels. His smart-phone in hand, Jack could hardly believe what he was seeing. Carver had been quick to put him and Fowler on the 'most wanted' lists, apparently. Not only that, but the Autobots had been painted as villains in the worst sense of the word. Given the nature of such an announcement, it was not surprising to see in the news some people taking to the streets in protest. Protests against the secrecy that had lead up to the events of today, protests against the state of emergency and the limited rights it gave to citizens, and then there were those who simply took to the streets to take advantage of the chaos.

Jack sat on an old wooden crate within the rundown interior of an abandoned tungsten mill. Large steel machinery, rusted in most places, was lined up along one side of the large hall. Pieces of the ceiling were missing and puddles of water were scattered about the floor. Outside, the sun was still fairly high, its light and heat bearing down relentlessly upon the Nevada desert. Nearby, Fowler paced back and forth, his clothing dirty and his skin slicked with sweat. Wheeljack sat at the end of the hall while Ultra Magnus stood ahead with Skystreaker doing what she could to patch up the hole that had been blasted into his back. He kept a straight face despite the pain, with the occasional wince indicating that even the Autobot Commander was not immune to the sensation.

Jack put the smart-phone down and shook his head.

"We're fugitives," he said, looking towards Fowler. The older Agent stopped and then briskly walked over. Somewhat abruptly, he snatched the smart-phone from Jack's hands and threw it to the floor. There, he stamped it a few times with his foot, crushing it under his shoes.

"They can track you," Fowler stated. "Even when it's so much as switched on." He reached into his pocket then and pulled out his own mobile phone. He threw that against the nearest concrete wall where it shattered into a hundred pieces.

"I can't believe this," Jack said. Today had turned bad abruptly, that was for sure. "What are we going to do? This is the first time I've been a wanted criminal."

"We lay low," Fowler replied. "That's about all we can do."

Jack frowned. He was sceptical, as much as he preferred to try and remain optimistic. Going up against Decepticons was one thing, but when your entire country wanted you in prison it made for a very different situation. Not only that, but Jack had never actually killed anyone before. He had never needed to take a shot at his fellow human and had hoped that he would get through life without having to do such a thing.

"Don't look so down, Jack," Fowler said, having noticed his downbeat expression. "We'll get through this."

"How many people did you kill today, Fowler?" Jack asked. Fowler frowned at the question. It was not something he had been asked before.

"What kind of question is that, son? I did what I had to. That compound was hostile territory." He paused, his eyes going to Jack's waist. "Where's your pistol?" The lack of a holster there was obvious.

"I only carry it if I absolutely need to," Jack answered. "I didn't expect I'd need to use it today. And I certainly didn't think I'd be shooting at anyone with it."

"It's better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it." Fowler crossed his arms. "I thought I told you that before."

"And I've gone nine years without having to fire a shot. You can probably understand my decision to not carry it with me."

Fowler nodded slowly.

"I get it, Jack. You've never needed to pull a gun on someone before. You weren't in the Rangers like I was, so you've never needed to fire a shot in anger. But I have no regrets for what I did back at the compound. Those Taskforce guys are bad news and that Colonel Carver guy's had it in for us since day one."

"He invited me to join..."

"So he could have you, and in turn Unit-E, under his thumb. Don't you see it now, Jack?" Fowler raised his brows, his tone taking on a more frustrated edge. "He's been building up to something like this. I bet General Williamson's in on the whole thing as well. They forced me into retirement and I can see why. With me gone, there'd only be you, and with you in the Taskforce then Unit-E could be absorbed by it and no one would ask any questions. Colonel Carver would be in complete control of Earth's defence against the Decepticons."

Jack figured it all made sense now, after everything that had happened. Still, there were too many unanswered questions. How did Cyclonus figure into it all? And who was really the one who had killed the President, since it sure as hell was not Bumblebee?

"We can't just stay here," Jack said. At best, he felt conflicted. Not just about killing people, but also regarding what they were going to do next. He had no idea what they could do short of turning themselves in. Naturally, he had no desire to spend the rest of his life in a federal prison.

"You're damn right we can't," Fowler said. He turned his head to look over at the Autobots. Skystreaker had finished with Ultra Magnus. The Autobot Commander flexed his arms, testing to see if they were as workable as they should be.

"Any ideas, Magnus?" Fowler asked. The Autobot Commander looked towards him, frowning as he thought over the question.

Wheeljack rose to his feet then, a disgruntled look crossing his metal features.

"I tell you what I'm going to do," he said aloud. "I'm going to go find Bumblebee and then I'm going to get my hands round the neck of that ass Deadeye and tear his fucking head off." The profanity was surprising to hear, coming from an Autobot, but given the situation Jack could understand the reaction. Wheeljack clasped his hands together, flexing his metal fingers in anticipation.

"And I suppose you're going to do that all on your lonesome?" Skystreaker tilted her head at him, one optic ridge raised. She did not sound convinced.

"Any better ideas?" Wheeljack narrowed his gaze at her. "Other than running away like a damn coward?"

"You have a ground-bridge, don't you?"

"I said, _'other than running away like a damn coward'_."

"Can't you just call in some of your friends from Cybertron?"

Wheeljack shook his head.

"What good would that do, sweet-spark?" He smiled when he saw Skystreaker give an annoyed grimace when he spoke the last word. "They'd get hunted down just the same as us. Unless you're saying we should just _invade_ Earth, but I don't think that'd help our image in the eyes of the human population. All they've been told about us is that we're 'terrorists'. Doing 'terrorist' things would only add to that image." He crossed his arms then, satisfied that he had made his point.

"Still, we'll need help," Skystreaker replied. "If we're going to find your friends and stop Colonel Carver, we'll need more than two Autobots and one Decepticon deserter."

"And why are you so keen to help us?" Ultra Magnus was the one to ask this question. Skystreaker swivelled around to face him, smiling at him as their gazes met.

"Because I've got no other option," she said. "I'm being hunted down by my old boss, who just so happens to be Cyclonus. I'm in as much trouble as you guys are. Staying with you will increase my chances of survival."

"Good to hear your spark is in the right place," Wheeljack quipped, his sarcasm blatant. "In it for yourself. Can't say I'm surprised. You remind me of a younger me, except I wasn't a bitch."

"Any ideas?" Fowler asked. "That's what we need right now. If we're going to find Bumblebee, we'll need a means of tracking him."

"And none of us have the means," Ultra Magnus answered. "It's easy enough for an Autobot to hide their life signatures, or for someone else to do it for them. We'd need sophisticated scanning equipment. The sort you'd only find on Cybertron."

"Or Unit-E headquarters," Fowler replied. Jack stood up then and walked over to the group. Already, he could see that some kind of plan was falling into place. "Ratchet might have left equipment like that lying around. Apparently, the Taskforce have the same sort of stuff since they were able to find Decepticons before we could. So, we could go back to Unit-E headquarters, or we could head back to the Taskforce compound. It's a toss-up, isn't it? We're all wanted fugitives, so I don't think it'll matter which one we go to."

"The ground-bridge is back at the Unit-E HQ," Wheeljack said. "Even if there's nothing salvageable there, we can go back to Cybertron and get what we need." He nodded slowly, approving of this haphazardly put together plan. "I'm liking where this is headed."

"We might actually stand a chance after all." Skystreaker spoke through a wry smile, her tone hardly convincing.

"I'll go to Unit-E," Wheeljack said.

"Don't expect the people there to open the gate for you." Fowler looked towards him, his expression grim. "They'll be on the lookout for any Cybertronians. You'll have to sneak in and I know that stealth was never your strong suit."

"I've changed," Wheeljack countered. There was an extended pause as a smile crossed his face. "Well, maybe not much. I'll still do my best to keep a low profile, you can count on that, tiny."

"I'll go with him," Skystreaker added. Wheeljack peered at her inquisitively and Fowler raised an eyebrow. Skystreaker did not strike them as the sort who would volunteer for a potentially dangerous mission. "He'll need backup and I can give that to him."

"And you'll probably make a run for it once we reach the ground-bridge," Wheeljack commented.

Skystreaker shook her head. She actually looked downbeat then, as if she had suddenly been hit with the full gravity of the situation.

"I can't go back to Cybertron," Skystreaker replied. "And I've got nowhere else to go. Why do you think I'm here with you? You're the only ones who'll have me."

"You _can't_ go back or you don't _want_ to go back?"

Skystreaker shrugged.

"A bit of both," she said.

Jack looked over to Fowler. They at least had something they could do, with Wheeljack and Skystreaker relegated the task of acquiring the means to find Bumblebee. And Knock Out for that matter.

"What about you and I?" Jack asked Fowler. The older Agent turned to him and put a hand to his chin for a moment, thinking it over. "We can't just stay here. I was thinking I could test out my Taskforce credentials. I may still be able to log onto their systems."

"Where would you do that? Back at their compound?" Fowler shook his head. "Going back there is a bad idea. And if we're going to do any computer stuff, we could get Rafael to help us..."

"No," Jack interrupted. "We're not dragging him into this. You might want to think twice about bringing any friends of yours into this as well, Bill."

Fowler nodded in understanding.

"You're right. The Taskforce wouldn't hesitate to go after our families. That would likely include Miko in your case, Jack."

"Next we're at a payphone, I'll call her. Get her to leave the country. But as for Rafael, we're keeping him out of this."

There was a long silence between the two of them. Neither of them could think of any real plan, other than what had been suggested. Jack had little hope that he would be able to access any Taskforce computers with his credentials, but it was worth a shot. The information they might be able to gleam would be helpful.

"You wouldn't mind coming along, Magnus? We sort of need a vehicle, anyway."

Ultra Magnus nodded in the affirmative.

"I understand, Fowler," he said. "Wheeljack and Skystreaker will go to Unit-E while we go to meet this friend of yours. Just tell me the way." Ultra Magnus ducked his way out of the large and partially open doors of the mill then, heading outside into the sun. Wheeljack and Skystreaker followed.

"Are you sure about this?" Jack asked Fowler, as the pair of them walked outside after the Autobots. Fowler turned to him, his look one of doubt.

"I've no idea," he answered. "It's not every day you end up a fugitive in your own country. I swore an oath to protect this nation, I guess being put on the 'most wanted' list is some sort of twisted repayment."

"You're taking it pretty well."

"That's the only way I can take it." Both of them stepped outside into the heat, the gravel crunching underfoot. A dirt road ran by the mill, heading back onto a highway that wound its way across the state. "I was trained to keep it together under stress. We both were."

"I wasn't in the Rangers..."

"And I haven't been in them for years," Fowler interrupted. "The point is, we have to keep a level head because as soon as we don't, we lose. Our enemies would want us to panic. They'd want us to be nervous wrecks. We can't give them that satisfaction. I'm going to get to the bottom of what's going on and so are you. And we're both going to do it without losing our cool. I'm just worried if my heart can take it. I'm getting old, after all. Probably too old for this shit."

Fowler smiled then. Jack did the same. He did feel slightly better about things. If Fowler could keep himself in good humour despite everything that had happened, then he figured he should be able to as well.

* * *

**Note (response to guest reviewer 'Giddy'): **Ultra Magnus wants to reach peaceful resolutions with rogue Decepticons, hence why he decided not to bring weapons with him to Cyclonus' 'negotiation'. It's a gesture of goodwill; that, and he may be getting rusty after nearly a decade of dealing with petty political squabbles on Cybertron. That, and his escort (Bumblebee, Wheeljack, etc.) were armed to an extent, just in case.  
Nonetheless, your comments are always appreciated, Giddy.


	21. Welcoming Committee

**Welcoming Committee**

There was not much outside of Las Vegas. Aside from some industrial compounds scattered here and there, as well as a railway line that wound its way far out into the desert, the city of Las Vegas was very much smack-bang in the middle of nowhere. Carver figured that was part of the appeal, having a city like this far from any other significant blot of civilisation.

He had been working in Nevada ever since the Taskforce's inception three years ago and he had been the one to choose the location of the Vault as it was now. Keeping it close to an urban centre, yet hidden out of immediate view ensured that they had easy access to any supplies they might have needed and that workers were close to home. Morale was always an important factor in running any operation, military or otherwise.

Carver stood in a mostly deserted, rundown parking lot situated on a hill beyond the city outskirts. There had been a drive-in cinema here, although that had died with the advent of home video decades ago. Now it was overgrown and the cement was either cracked or completely missing in places. There was one car nearby, a rusted hulk with no wheels. The screen of the drive-in cinema was missing, presumably long gone like the rest of the place. The main building was small and rusted, its windows boarded up and covered in graffiti. Carver was accompanied by two operatives in combat gear, both clutching submachine guns while they hung around by the black sedan he had arrived in.

At the other end of the parking lot stood two Decepticons. Carver knew one of them, Vortex, the brown-grey Combaticon who was apparently some kind of elite shock trooper. He was not too sure of the details, nor did he care much for them. As for the other one, this Decepticon was a flyer judging from the wings at his back. He was also 'scarred', with half of his face and part of his chest melted and warped beyond recognition, scorched thoroughly. Carver reached into one pocket on his jacket and pulled out a packet of peppermint gum, a piece of which he placed in his mouth before putting the rest away.

Both Decepticons strode over to him, tall and imposing. Carver had long since gotten over being afraid of them. They could be killed, like anything else. He knew just how to do it and he, and his Taskforce, had the means to do so. Both Decepticons likely knew this much and it made for at least part of the reason why Carver had opted to work with them in the first place. As much as he hated them and their kind, what they had was a business arrangement. Sometimes working with people you did not like was something one had to do, and Carver had done it a fair few times through his military career. He was used to it by now, even if those he colluded with were not even from this planet.

He chewed his gum slowly, letting the minty fresh flavour wash over his tongue. He had stopped smoking ten years previously, so chewing gum had become a decent enough alternative.

"Who's the new guy?" Carver asked as Vortex peered down at him. He was of course referring to the flyer standing nearby. "He looks like shit."

"Skywarp's his name," Vortex replied. His tone was level, oddly refined, something that Carver found slightly amusing. For a killing machine from another planet, Vortex sounded like a university professor from the way he sometimes spoke.

"That's almost as stupid as 'Vortex'," Carver said. If Vortex was insulted by the comment, he did not show it.

"You had a Decepticon," Skywarp said. One of his optics was missing, Carver noticed. With a facial disfigurement like that, Carver was reminded of a James Bond villain. The thought was amusing. "Skystreaker. What became of her?" His voice was raspy, probably a side-effect of whatever hell he had been through.

"That's why we're meeting," Carver said. "She escaped. Along with Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus. They even had some human help. I said as much over the phone, didn't I?" He raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "I mean, surely you 'Cons aren't all stupid?"

Skywarp stepped forwards, the look in his one good eye suggesting that he wished to crush Carver to a pulp or something similar. Vortex put out an arm, stopping him from doing so.

"We have a problem, then?" Vortex returned his gaze towards the Colonel.

"Maybe." Carver was still undecided on this matter. There were not many places a bunch of Autobots and their human helpers could run to that his people, and the rest of the nation's authorities for that matter, would not be able to reach. "I'd say they're more of a 'nuisance'. But not to worry, you two. The whole country's been turned against the Autobots. Ask the common Joe on the street and he'll likely tell you what the media's told him: they're an alien force bent on humanity's destruction. It's amazing what a bit of spin and a Shifter shooting up a military base can do for your cause."

"And that means?"

"It means, big guy, that this band of valiant Autobots and their human helpers have nowhere to run," Carver explained. "They'll be hunted down like dogs. I already have a few leads I can follow up on. There's even a hotline for people to call if they catch sight of any alien robots, such as yourselves." He paused, curling one corner of his mouth slightly. "I'm afraid the common Joe on the street isn't going to be able to determine the difference between an Autobot and a Decepticon. You should keep out of sight. You'd only confuse the situation."

"And the item?" Vortex leaned forwards slightly. Carver did not like how hard it was to read the Combaticon's face. His optics were shielded under a yellow visor and his mouth was covered up by a battle-plate. It moved only slightly when he spoke. All Carver had to go on was body language and the sound of his voice in order to determine what the Combaticon might have been thinking. It annoyed him. Sometimes he would catch out liars just through the way they looked. Vortex's unreadable mask made such detection difficult.

"You mean the thing you want so bad but you won't tell me what it's for?" Carver spat out his gum then, the flavour gone. It landed in a patch of grass nearby. "Not until this situation with the Autobots is defused. They might be a nuisance, but they're a nuisance I don't need. And in my experience, nuisances can quickly turn into something more serious."

"You're not giving it to us?" Vortex asked. As always, his tone was perfectly level. Very controlled, Carver noticed. That indicated a lot of discipline, likely far more than his buddy Skywarp had.

"Of course I'm not giving it to you, metal-head," Carver stated, matter-of-factly. "We had an agreement. You do what I want you do to, and you get your special shield-disc thing. So far, things haven't gone completely according to plan."

"Your failure to contain the Autobots is the fault of your Taskforce, not us."

"And until the problem is rectified, you won't get your special shield thing." Carver paused, narrowing his eyes. Was that anger he detected, in the way Vortex's stance faltered? Something about the Combaticon's demeanour changed, but it was difficult to determine what. "What is it, exactly? I'd like to know what I'll be giving away."

"You don't need to know."

"I think I do," Carver said. "For all I know, I could be giving you the means to blow up planets. Or to travel through time. Or something equally insane, these Cybertronian relics are always such fun, aren't they? How many of them were dumped on Earth, anyway? Is this planet your species' dumping ground or something?"

"How about I crush you?" Skywarp spat, his anger obvious. "The General should never have agreed to this."

"Go ahead," Carver said. "Right now, I have five people scattered around well out of sight, each armed with a Taipan Anti-Material Cannon, all of them watching us have this conversation. Those guns can punch holes straight through your armour, so chances are you'll get the other half of your face shot off before you can put your metal claws anywhere near me." Carver kept a straight face as he looked up at Skywarp, the Decepticon's anger faltering. He looked around carefully in an effort to catch sight of at least one of the five aforementioned snipers. "These guys are experts, so they aren't going to advertise their presence to you."

"Or they're not even here," Vortex said carefully.

"Are you willing to take that chance?" Carver raised an eyebrow. "If you kill me, you'll never get your precious relic." He paused for effect, letting his words hang in the air between them. "This relic has something to do with 'Nova Prime', doesn't it?"

Vortex was silent, but Carver could tell that the Decepticon was surprised. The way he was glaring at him seemed to indicate as much.

"Maybe you should just tell me what it does already," Carver continued. "I'll find out eventually. You'll save time for both of us if you just spill the beans right here and now."

Vortex was unlikely to do such a thing, but Carver figured that it was worth a shot.

"You would have to talk to Star Saber about that," Skywarp said.

"And who might that be?" Carver asked. 'Star Saber' was not a name he had heard before, certainly not in regards to any one Cybertronian. "I thought that General Cyclonus was the one who wanted the relic?"

"He does. And so does Star Saber."

Vortex turned to look at Skywarp, likely in an attempt to get him to stop talking. Skywarp fell silent there and then, but enough had been said for Carver's mind to go into overdrive regarding the possibilities. Star Saber must have been a fairly significant figure, probably one who worked closely with Cyclonus.

"Can I meet this 'Star Saber'?" Carver asked.

"No." Vortex's response was quick and to the point. Carver could see he had struck a sensitive chord with these two Decepticons. He had them on the ropes, their want for the relic so strong that they were willing to bend over backwards to accommodate him. It amused him, as these two Decepticons and the rest of Cylonus's force had no idea that the relic was contained within the city nearby. It was buried underneath layers of concrete with scramblers set up through the Vault compound based on a model Deadeye had put together for them, but even that Autobot had no idea as to the Vault's existence and what it contained.

"Do you want assistance in your hunt for the Autobots?" Vortex asked. "I am sure General Cyclonus would be more than willing to provide it."

Carver got the impression that no matter how he answered, Cyclonus would send some of his soldiers to join in the hunt anyway. Carver's people certainly did not need any more Decepticon help in the matter.

"If I answered 'no', would Cyclonus still send Decepticons?" Carver asked.

Vortex did not reply. The answer was an obvious one anyway. There was a brief silence as the three of them considered their options. Finally, Vortex did speak again.

"The two of us will return to the ship," he said. "The General will be in touch with you shortly."

"I'm sure," Carver said, his voice laced with doubt. He watched the two Decepticons turn and walk away, both of them disappearing from view around the side of the rundown building nearby. They would have had a transport ship hidden somewhere close, likely fitted with all manner of jammers and scramblers to ensure conventional human air surveillance systems could not detect it. The same most certainly went for Cyclonus' cruiser and personal 'yacht'.

Once the two Decepticons were gone, Carver stood for a short while in the drive-in cinema, the heat of the sun bearing down on him strongly. He could feel himself sweating underneath his jacket. Nonetheless, he put another piece of gum in his mouth and began to chew in earnest. It felt good, having a whole bunch of Decepticons under his power. It certainly would not last, but he would make sure to enjoy it for as long as it did.

* * *

Unit-E headquarters was under heavy guard in response to the events of the last twelve hours. There were still clean-up crews milling about the helipad where the President had met his fiery end. Soldiers milled about on patrol, far more than usual. There was even an armoured tank parked at one side of the runway, although it appeared to be unmanned.

Wheeljack watched all this from a hill beyond the compound's perimeter. He had so far needed to disable a few surveillance cameras on his way here, causing a patrol to come out to investigate. However, a spot fire he had started beyond the perimeter further back had drawn the attention of most of that patrol, leaving Wheeljack relatively free to get closer to the base. He knew the place well, even if it had been nine years since his last lengthy stay. The time spent there yesterday had been fleeting at best and boring to top it off.

Skystreaker was crouched nearby. She had already suggested flying overwatch, but Wheeljack did not want her getting detected. The humans had sophisticated enough technology that an unidentified aircraft flying over a secure installation would be easy to detect, no matter what countermeasures Skystreaker might have at her disposal.

"So, what do we do, hotshot?" Skystreaker asked him. Wheeljack turned to her, still lying prone in the dirt. He had his one remaining sword sheathed at his back and the hold-out pistol clipped to his waist. He would have preferred far more for a break-in like this, but the Taskforce had taken his grenades and mounted cannons away from him.

"We stroll in," Wheeljack said. "There's a blind-spot at the corner there. From that point, it's about a five minute walk to the hangar."

"Blind-spot?"

"A hole in the guard patrols. Cameras might still see us."

"That's not much help," Skystreaker replied. She did not sound convinced of their plan. This was understandable, for not even Wheeljack was convinced of it. He certainly was not about to sit back and do nothing.

"It's all we've got," Wheeljack said. "So, you coming with? Or you just going to stay out here and sulk?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Wheeljack shrugged.

"There's always a choice, babe." Wheeljack unsheathed his sword and stood up off of the dirt, shifting into a crouched stance. "We can get in, get what we need, then blast our way out if we have to."

"You're not much into stealth, are you?"

Wheeljack smiled at her. Wreckers were not well known for covert operations.

"Do you even need to ask that to a Wrecker?" Wheeljack started down the hill then, somersaulting near the bottom. It was only a short walk from here to the perimeter fence so he moved quickly, coming to it in short order. Skystreaker followed suit, glancing about as she moved, her uncertainty in their approach apparent.

Wheeljack used his sword to carve out a section of fence before he pushed it out, letting it clank somewhat loudly on the ground beneath. He climbed on through then, with Skystreaker following close behind. The pair bolted into a narrow lane between two of the larger buildings on the base, with several more hangars up ahead, one of which was the Unit-E headquarters. Wheeljack could see that there were guards roaming about, some of whom were cleaning up debris from the runway outside. Wheeljack noticed a surveillance camera at the corner ahead and so, moving along the wall so he was just outside of its cone of vision, made his way towards it. A single swipe from his sword took the whole thing clean off of its housing.

"They're going to investigate that, you know," Skystreaker said.

"And we'll be long gone by the time they come here," Wheeljack replied. He leaned his head around the corner. There was a short, but open stretch of ground between them and the building across the way. From there, they would be able to work their way behind them and sneak into the Unit-E hangar from the back. Wheeljack gestured to Skystreaker with one hand, signalling her to stay. Once the nearest patrol had turned their backs, he motioned to her to follow. It was a short, but decisive, run. The two Cybertronians crossed it quickly, entering the cover of the hangar on the corner. From there, Wheeljack moved on ahead to the rear of the row of buildings, taking out another surveillance camera with his sword as he moved. Skystreaker followed his lead and the two of them found their way to the back of the Unit-E hangar. Here, there was a set of metal double doors and a garage door just large enough for Wheeljack to crawl through.

"You sure your fat aft can be fit through there?" Skystreaker quipped.

Wheeljack forced open the door and pulled it up as looked back at her, shrugging in response.

"Will yours?" He went prone then, crawling his way through the door, finding himself in the large back-room of the hangar. Ratchet kept most of his equipment, that which he was not using for anything, stored back here and in tunnels that ran underneath the building. The place had not been built to harbor Cybertronians, unlike the base that had been out by Jasper until Megatron had demolished it. This hangar had been hastily refurbished to make room for the Autobots, leaving some sections very much 'human' in scale. Wheeljack stood up, noticing some pylons at the walls that jutted out slightly. The ceiling here had once been a lot lower.

There were shelves here, including a few locked bulkhead doors. Wheeljack surveyed the items scattered about the shelves, making mental notes as he went. Some items here were useless to him, junk even. However, there were a few distinctly Cybertronian pieces of technology amongst the junk that he might have been able to make use of.

He took up a Cybertronian signal beacon. That was not much use to him as it was, as signalling his location would be a very poor move given his standing as a fugitive here. It was the technology that comprised it that he was more interested in.

Skystreaker came in then and she stood in the middle of the room, crossing her arms as she regarded the assorted equipment around her.

"You know what you're doing?" She asked him.

Wheeljack grabbed a Cybertronian drill off of the shelf in front of him and switched it on, relieved to see that the power pack still retained some charge.

"Yeah," he said absently, his concentration set upon the signal beacon he held. He used the drill to release a panel on its side, revealing the circuitry within.

"Shouldn't we get out of here?" Skystreaker stepped towards him, curious. "If you've already got what you came for..."

"I need more," Wheeljack said. He looked towards the shelves as he set the partially dismantled beacon down on the floor. Grabbing items as he moved along the shelf, he gave each of them a once-over before throwing them aside. Nothing much here would be useful, some of this stuff was indeed junk. Burned out power cells were of no use to him. Some of the items were human in design, hardly helpful for their situation. "I need something more." He muttered this as his movements became more frantic, his spark pulsing harder as he began sweeping items off of the shelves completely. Much of them clanked loudly upon the floor and Skystreaker took a step back, startled by his sudden loss of control.

"There's nothing fucking here," he spat. "Human scrap, nothing I can make any real use out of." He let out an angered shout then, hardly concerned about keeping a low-profile. If the humans here found him, he did not care. He was just about out of ideas anyway. "I didn't come all this way for things to fall apart now!"

"But..."

"But what?" He turned to her, his optics wide. How could things turn so bad in such a short time? Usually he retained a cool head, but the last twelve hours had gone from bad to worse. "We have to find Bumblebee and I can't do that if I haven't got the right equipment."

"The ground-bridge..."

"In the next room? You know, the one place where we're sure to be spotted?" Wheeljack made his way over to the large set of doors joining the back-room with the rest of the hangar. His brief burst of anger had resided, leaving him only mostly frustrated. He kicked open the doors then, sword drawn. The hangar interior before him was as he had left it, prior to leaving last night to meet with Jack. There were human soldiers out here, several of them, all of whom turned their heads to watch the Autobot Wrecker come barging inside with a sword in one hand. All of them raised their weapons, but none fired at him. Something else had caught their attention in the direction of the ground-bridge. A pulsing green light tinged with white. Wheeljack turned to look in its direction, surprised to see that a ground-bridge portal had opened up. From out of it stepped two distinctly Cybertronian figures, one of whom he recognized. The bulky but distinctly feminine shape of Wildstrike he would recognize anywhere. As for the other very male Cybertronian walking through, he did not recognize him. He was carrying a large rifle over one shoulder, so that was a bonus. Wheeljack could do with some guns of his own, as he only had his pistol and sword.

"Great timing," Skystreaker commented from behind him. The human soldiers took a moment to consider who they should shoot at, if anyone. Wildstrike stepped into the hangar, regarding the human soldiers with a curious gaze from her blue optics. As for the other Autobot with her, he kept his gun placed across one shoulder, his optic-ridge raised slightly. He had a similar crest to Ultra Magnus, but was slightly shorter than the Autobot Commander.

"Wheeljack?" Wildstrike looked his way, clearly confused as to why he had his weapons drawn and why he was looking so beat up. "What's going on here?"

Somewhere outside, an alarm sounded.

"I'll explain later," Wheeljack replied. He motioned to both Autobots to follow. Despite their reservations, they did so, all the while the soldiers watched them. None fired a shot, apparently on orders to hold back until reinforcements arrived. Those reinforcements, Wheeljack realised, were bearing down on them quickly. Both Wildstrike and her friend followed him into the back room. Her gaze went to Skystreaker and it scrunched up noticeably when she saw the Decepticon insignia on her chest.

"Wheeljack, what in the Pit are you doing with this 'Con?" Wildstrike went to draw her weapons but Wheeljack was quick to stop her, grabbing her right arm as she prepared to reshape it into a cannon.

"She's with me," Wheeljack said. He still had his doubts about this particular detail, as he had no real idea of just where Skystreaker's loyalties lay. Nonetheless, she was technically "with him" since following him everywhere likely counted as such. As for the other Autobot new arrival, he did not seem too fussed with Skystreaker's presence. He hefted his sizeable rifle in both hands, the barrel visibly glowing a blue-white.

"Who are you?" Wheeljack asked. Outside, he could hear the sounds of footsteps and vehicles roaring. This base was about to go on lockdown (for the second time today). He found it peculiar that none of the soldiers had come running in. Perhaps they knew that their conventional weapons would have little effect on their Cybertronian guests?

"This is Doubletake," Wildstrike said, nodding in the direction of the silver and black Autobot. "He's the Chief of Security in Iacon."

"A cop?" Wheeljack did not bother to hide his disdain of the police from his voice. Doubletake tilted his head slightly, picking up on this inflection.

"You don't like cops, Wheeljack?" Doubletake's voice was very male and very refined.

"I just think you guys are pretty much useless," Wheeljack said. "Like how you only show up _after_ a crime's been committed. What good is that, huh?"

Doubletake said nothing. Instead, he glanced back through the doors and into the hangar's main hall. "Looks like these fleshlings are pulling out all the stops for our arrival." He was sort of right: about twenty soldiers had run into the hangar now, spreading out and taking positions behind cover. All of them trained their weapons in the direction of the Autobots, targeting them through the doorway.

"Is now really the time for conversation?" Skystreaker asked. "We'll get boxed in if we don't make a break for it."

"I'd like to know why we're being greeted like enemies by the humans," Wildstrike inquired. She turned to Skystreaker, apparently assuming that she was the cause of the problems here. "You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, would you?"

Wheeljack, as much as he would have liked to see the two females fight, stepped between them and did what he could to prevent any sort of conflict. Infighting was something he wanted to avoid.

"There'll be plenty of time for you two to slap each other later," Wheeljack said. "Like Skystreaker said, we need to go. Right now."

Doubletake put his rifle at his back, one elbow knocking a shelf near him. A box of emergency flares fell down, spilling the red cylinders across the floor and by his feet. Intrigued, he picked a few of them up. He stuck the end of one in his mouth, rolling it between his metal teeth like some kind of human toothpick. Wheeljack would have made a comment, were it not for what he saw enter the hangar.

Deadeye strode in as confident as ever. The human soldiers spread out around him, allowing him a clean field of fire into the back of the hangar. Wheeljack returned his gaze to the others, gesturing towards the door.

"We have to go," he said. His hold-out pistol in his left hand, he ducked in the doorway and fired off a shot. The Autobot expertly dodged the white beam, sending it by his right shoulder and out through the open hangar doors. Immediately all hell broke loose and the soldiers began shooting, the thunder of twenty assault rifles resounding throughout the hangar. Wheeljack put an arm in front of his face as to shield his optics from the hail of bullets. Behind him, the others rushed out through the rear entrance.

Once clear of the building, the four of them transformed. Wheeljack lead the way in his vehicle mode, tearing along the perimeter fence with the others following after him. Finally they came to the part he had cut open earlier and he barrelled straight through it, taking a chunk of the fence along with him. The four of them put a great deal of distance between them and the airbase very quickly. No one pursued, at least not at first, but by the time any helicopters had been put into the air the group was long gone.

Wheeljack could at least rest easy in the fact that they had slightly more help, so the trip back to Unit-E headquarters had not been a waste of time. He had salvaged parts of the beacon, for whatever good that might do him. He had only some slight idea of what he might use them for.

* * *

Deadeye did not give chase. Part of him simply did not want to. Being seen as an enemy by your fellow Autobots was not what he had signed up to the Taskforce. However, their attack against the people of Earth was something they would have to answer for. Justice had to be done and he was perfectly content with being the one to do it. However, he had other reasons for not pursuing the four Cybertronians. For starters, he did not like being so outnumbered. Wheeljack and Skystreaker he could handle, but the two new arrivals complicated things. It was their arrival here he had been sent to prevent, in a way.

Carver wanted the ground-bridge offline. Given the power requirements and technology needed to open a direct ground-bridge between Cybertron and Earth, the Unit-E headquarters was the only place on the planet that could receive a ground-bridge straight from Cybertron. That made it a vital point to control. And by 'control', in Deadeye's case, that meant shutting the whole thing down completely. There was even a large metal ring, about thirty metres in diameter, set into the floor with a short tunnel behind it. That was where the ground-bridge was channelled, the whole thing connected to a number of Cybertronian terminals. Without that stabilising field, there could be no more ground-bridges from that planet to here. Certainly none that would not collapse within short order.

Deadeye was no technology expert, certainly not on computers. Carver wanted him to ensure the ground-bridge would no longer function and he had not specified how Deadeye was to achieve this, so the Autobot did what he did best in this case: he started shooting. He shot each terminal several times over, sparks flying and smoke wafting out as each one was riddled with large fist-sized holes. Finally, he shifted his aim towards the stabilising ring and sent several shots into it, shearing one portion clean from the rest before the entire thing collapsed in on itself, streaks of energy running along it as the power was no longer contained. A shower of sparks erupted from much of the large metal ring before Deadeye sent a shot into the power conduit set into the floor beneath it. There was another explosion, a larger one than the rest, that sent fire racing down part of the conduit before the power was cut completely. Lowering his pistol, Deadeye regarded his handiwork with only the slightest sense of satisfaction. He had destroyed his only reliable means back to Cybertron, but he had also ensured that those Autobots here already would be stranded. It was a conflicted sensation he felt, no matter how many times he told himself it was for the best, a _necessity_.

With the ground-bridge gone, the Autobots on Earth were on their own.


	22. Harbinger

**Harbinger**

There was no answer. The phone rang and rang, but no one picked up. Finally, it switched over to the answering machine and Jack heard himself telling the caller to leave a message. He did not bother and instead hung up the payphone and dialled the number again. Outside, the street was mostly empty and Ultra Magnus, in vehicle mode, was parked nearby. Fowler waited in the driver's seat, the window wound down as to provide some cool air in the harsh heat of the Nevada desert. It was about one o'clock in the afternoon in a tiny, fly-speck on a map town that was located in the middle of nowhere. There might have been thirty buildings tops, mostly small houses, dotted around a central diner, gas station and town hall (albeit the "hall" in question was hardly big enough to qualify as one). Jack was in a phone booth on the corner by the diner, the interior fairly warm. He had discarded his jacket sometime prior, leaving himself in a white shirt and black trousers. He had even unbuttoned his collar and thrown away his tie, as looking businesslike and presentable had become the least of his worries.

"Come on," he muttered as the phone on the other end of the line rang for the fourth time. He hung up then, as there was no point in letting it go on any longer. He would have to get back to the house himself.

He departed the phone booth and returned to Fowler, who watched him as he approached.

"Any luck?" Fowler asked.

"None." Jack could hardly contain his frustration. Today had gone from bad to worse, all within a short space of time. It was not something he had experienced for nine years. It occurred to him then that he had become far too content in his life during that time, free of any significant crisis and mostly free of Decepticons. This time around, it was not just Decepticons he had to worry about but all of the law enforcement authorities in the United States. At least out here, in this fly-speck-on-a-map town, there were no public surveillance cameras.

"I need to go to the house," Jack said. The passenger's side door opened and he climbed inside before sitting down. One hand went to the dashboard where he clutched it tightly, hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. As much as he wanted to keep a level-headed exterior, the fact that Miko might be in extreme danger was making this very difficult.

"That might be a mistake," Fowler said. He sounded grim, as he knew that he would not be able to talk Jack out of taking such a course of action. "If she's not answering the phone, they might have already got her..."

"Don't say that," Jack interrupted, his tone more incisive than he had intended. Fowler fell silent and there was a brief moment of awkwardness between the two. Slowly, Fowler nodded his head, understanding full well what Jack intended. The passenger side door closed then and Ultra Magnus' voice filtered through the speakers on the dashboard. He sounded his usual stern self, although there was a tinge of uncertainty audible within his voice.

_"So, are we going to Jack's house?"_ He asked.

"Yeah." Jack answered the question before Fowler could get a word in. "And get us there quickly."

The engine shifted into gear and Ultra Magnus guided himself back onto the road. As soon as they were out of town, he essentially floored the accelerator, sending them shooting across the desert highways at a speed well beyond 'safe'. Jack remained uneasy, the anticipation and the fear eating him up inside. He had a feeling of what to expect when he got back to the house, but it was not a matter he wished to give any great amount of thought to until he was absolutely certain of what had happened.

* * *

When Ultra Magnus rolled up to the house, Jack immediately sensed that something was wrong. The front door was partially open, uncharacteristic of either him or Miko. Neither of them were careless enough to simply leave the house's entrance open like that. As soon as Ultra Magnus came to a halt on the side of the quiet suburban street, Jack pushed open the door and bolted out. Fowler could do little else but follow, albeit slower, his age and his weight not doing much to help his overall agility. Nonetheless, he pulled out his SIG pistol and checked the magazine. He had two full magazines, about thirty rounds in total. As for Jack, he was unarmed, yet he gave little thought to this as he pushed open the front door and stepped into the quiet interior of the house.

Jack resisted the urge to charge in completely. He knew that if someone had 'gotten' to Miko, it was very likely that they were still here. He had no gun on him, although there was one in the house. Miko had insisted they have at least one on the premises, "just in case". There was also his standard-issue sidearm, presumably where he had left it in his bedside drawer.

"Miko?" Jack called, somewhat gingerly. He had pretty much given up the element of surprise if there was anyone else in here. The house itself was lit in a rather subdued manner, a result of having all the blinds drawn, enough so that the sunlight filtered through them only partially. Slowly, he walked forwards, starting down the floor-boarded hallway that ran down the length of the house. To his left was a living room, to his right a partially open door that lead into a dining area and, in turn, a kitchen that was connected to it. From there, he would be able to access the garage and the outdoor patio that was behind it.

Further down were the bedrooms. It was outside the master bedroom that he found the first piece of evidence indicating that things were not quite right. On the floor, he saw the unmistakable red of two empty shotgun shell casings. He knelt down by the pair of them and picked one up, noting the '00 BUCK 70MM' that was lightly printed on the side of both. He dropped the casing, his heart pounding in his chest, before he rose to his feet again and pushed the bedroom door open completely. It took him a moment to register the fact that there were two bullet-holes embedded in the door-frame His attention was quickly diverted to the bed itself and the blood that was splattered across it. There were more bullet-holes, these in the wall behind him. The drawer in the nightstand was open and the holster that had contained his standard-issue sidearm was exposed, even if the gun itself was absent. Judging by the brass casings scattered across the room, someone had pulled his gun out and used it. They might have even been successful, if the blood on the bed-sheets and floor was anything to go by. Or that may very well have been Miko's blood, he had no idea. It was all very fresh, he could see this much.

Fowler appeared in the doorway behind him. His gaze went to the mess in the room and his eyes widened somewhat.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "Is that her blood?"

Jack approached the bed slowly before he put one finger to a splotch of it that was on the bed-sheets. It was still damp, a fresh spill. Whatever had happened here had happened very recently. The smaller holes that were in the mattress and the wall behind the bed indicated that someone had fired a few shotgun rounds into here and had likely caught Miko with the buckshot in the process.

"If they got her," Fowler said. "Where is she?"

That was a good question. Jack already had the many possibilities playing out in his mind, none of which were good. His heart pounding and his frustration on the rise, he stormed out of the bedroom and brushed by Fowler. The older man immediately fell into step behind him, knowing full well that he would have to reel in Agent Darby somehow, lest things only get worse for the both of them.

"She must have gone down fighting," Fowler commented. "That'd be trademark Miko..."

"Does it matter?" Jack spat. The anger and despair that had been building up in him for the past few hours finally exploded out of him then, his tone seething with it. Fowler looked understandably taken aback for a moment. "It doesn't fucking matter what happened here. They got her and she's probably dead by now. They've probably got guys outside ready to barge in here, _ready to turn this place into a fucking shooting gallery!"_

"It was your idea to come back here, Jack," Fowler said, his voice level. "I went along with it because I knew there'd be no talking you out of it. We've got to stick together, or else we're done. They want to get to you, Jack. They want to make you angry, to make you upset, to impair your judgement by turning it personal."

"It was already personal when it started," Jack replied. He reined in his anger a bit, aware that Fowler had a point in regards to keeping a clear head. "They've targeted the Autobots, _our friends._ And for sticking by our friends, they've targeted us as well. They're only making things worse for themselves by dragging Miko into this." Jack paused for a moment then, thinking over what to add next. An idea occurred to him, likely a dangerous one. "We've got to get to Rafael. They'll get him into this and they'll probably kill him while they're at it."

Before Fowler could reply, the phone in the kitchen began ringing. It broke the silence within the house suddenly, casting an ominous atmosphere over both men. Slowly, Jack walked through the partially open door to his left, stepping into the mostly grey and white kitchen. The phone continued to ring, twice, three times, before finally hitting the sixth ring.

"Don't pick it up, Jack," Fowler said from the doorway. However, his advice went unheeded and Jack snatched the phone out of its housing on the kitchen bench. Placing it to his ear, he half-expected it to be a telemarketer. However, he felt a shot of anger go through him when he heard Captain Van Cleef's voice coming down the line.

_"Jacky-boy, is that you?"_ He spoke condescendingly, no doubt to further torment Jack. _"Sound off, will you?"_

"Van Cleef. What have you done with Miko?" Jack kept his voice as controlled as he could, despite the stress that was currently ravaging his state-of-mind.

_"She's a fighter, that one. Took a few shots at me. Now she's currently gagging on some duct tape in the back of one of our cars. Not only is she a fighter, but she simply doesn't shut the hell up, you know?" _He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. _"Don't worry, china. She took a few wounds herself, so she's not in much of a fighting state anymore. I guess she lost a bit too much blood, since she passed out about five minutes ago."_ He said all of this nonchalantly. Jack clutched the phone tighter and he heard the plastic of it audibly creak. Fowler watched him carefully from the doorway, the phone's volume up loud enough for him to be able to hear what Van Cleef was saying.

"How did you know to call here and now?" Jack asked.

_"Don't sound so surprised. We've had that place bugged for three years. You and your girlfriend have been under surveillance that entire time. Kind of puts all those craps you've taken into a new perspective, doesn't it?"_

"You son of a bitch. What do you want? You've already made me a fugitive."

Van Cleef chuckled. He sounded smug and was most likely smiling all the while he spoke. Jack wished he could have reached through the phone and strangled the man.

_"Give it up, boet. The cops are on their way to your place to investigate the recent 'disturbance'. I suggest you turn yourself in. It'll make things easier for you and easier for your friends, the Autobots included."_

Jack should have expected as much. Fowler walked out of view and headed for the front of the house, where he peered through one set of blinds to view the street. No police cars had showed up yet, but the distant sound of sirens indicated that they would be here within minutes.

"Jack, hang up that damn phone." Fowler called from the living room and Jack, for a moment, considered doing just that. Fowler walked back into view at the kitchen doorway a few seconds later. He had his pistol clutched in his right hand.

_"This is your chance to end it, at least your part in things,"_ Van Cleef said._ "And you'll get your girlfriend back. She could visit you in prison, that is if you don't get the death penalty. Treason's a pretty big offence."_

"Don't listen to him," Fowler said. "Miko could be dead for all we know. Even if she isn't, he could kill her, regardless of what you do now. And do you really want to give him the satisfaction of turning yourself in?"

Jack looked over to Fowler, feeling more conflicted than he knew he should have been. He could not just give up now, not when his friends were at risk. "The Autobots need our help. This entire country needs our help."

_"Is that Fowler?" _ Van Cleef asked. _"I wouldn't listen to that old fart. Give him fifteen years and he'll probably wind up senile and sitting in a puddle of his own piss in a nursing home somewhere. A fitting retirement, don't you think?"_

"I'll kill you," Jack said. He had never actually killed another human being before, but he was sure he could make Van Cleef a first time. That, and Colonel Carver. Still, he had no idea just how he was going to find either of them, short of giving himself up and even if he did that, it would be the police that met him, not the Taskforce. They were clever, he could give them that. They were keeping their distance. Let the police handle it, Jack and Fowler were wanted fugitives after all.

_"You ever killed a man, Jack?"_ There was a pause. Neither of them spoke during that moment. _"I'll take your silence as a 'no'. As for your decision now, it could seal the fate of your friends. Who's next on the list, from your little band of heroes? Rafael Esquivel? Or what about your mother, June?"_ He was just taunting him now. _"Make your decision, Darby. It's now or never, as the Elvis song goes."_

Jack pressed the 'end call' button before he threw the phone towards the wall. There, it shattered into dozens of pieces, most of which scattered throughout the kitchen. Fowler approached him, putting one hand reassuringly upon his shoulder.

"Come on," Fowler said. "We can't stay here."

Jack nodded in understanding. Despite his rage and the sheer stress of everything, they had work to do. If Miko was still alive, he would find her, this much he would make sure of. And as for Rafael, they would get him before the Taskforce did.

"I have to get something," Jack said. Fowler gave him a frown but Jack had run off down the hallway before he could say anything. He found his way into the garage where Miko had left her car. At the wooden bench at the back wall, Jack pulled open one of the drawers and felt some relief when he saw the revolver laying within. He picked it up and blew the dust off of it before he took the pair of boxes of bullets that had been stored in the drawer with it. With these items in hand, he ran back into the house and followed Fowler outside. Both men crossed the lawn and made their way to where Ultra Magnus waited for them in vehicle mode. He flung open his doors and they both climbed in, the engine starting immediately and the doors slamming shut behind them. Further down the road, a pair of police cars appeared, sirens wailing.

Jack watched them shrink in the rear view mirror as Ultra Magnus went trundling down the suburban streets. His decision had been made, his resolve strengthened. The Taskforce had only made things worse for themselves, something he would make sure to prove to them.

* * *

The _Harbinger_ was a Decepticon cruiser, shot down many years before and essentially left to rust away in the Nevada desert, tucked into a valley far from any human eyes. Wheeljack had been here only once before, and that had only been a passing visit while the other Autobots had attempted to salvage what they could. Then, it had been nothing but an empty shell, much of the vessel a wreck from the crash it had endured. Now, it was probably his only chance of attaining the equipment he needed, as Unit-E headquarters had not given him anything terribly useful and going back to Cybertron was out of the question. However, it had not been his idea to come here. He had all but forgotten about the ship's existence. No, Doubletake had suggested it as they had gone speeding across the desert, putting as much distance between them and the airbase where Unit-E's headquarters had been located. Apparently, the Autobot Security Chief was convinced that they would find some useful equipment in the husk of a ship. Wheeljack was unconvinced, but the ship itself would make a decent enough hide-out until they came up with a proper plan.

Wheeljack, Wildstrike, Doubletake and Skystreaker arrived at the ship's entrance. It jutted partially from the sand and the rocks, most of it buried. The four of them emerged from their vehicle forms and Doubletake was the first to approach the ship's one accessible entrance. He had no qualms about simply kicking open the mostly rusted door, tearing it from its moorings with a surprisingly loud creak. Beyond that, the ship's darkened and dusty corridors travelled deep underground.

"We stripped this place clean a while back," Wheeljack said. He stood by Doubletake, watching the Autobot curiously as he pulled a red emergency flare from somewhere on his armour. He stuck the end of it in his mouth, rolling it between his metal teeth absently. Skystreaker and Wildstrike stood nearby, keeping some distance between one another. The distrust was blatant and somewhat understandable, given Wildstrike's Elite Guard status and Skystreaker's Decepticon background. She still carried the emblem on her chest, so her Decepticon nature was clear to all who laid eyes on her.

"You know, I'm curious about what brought you two to Earth," Wheeljack said. Doubletake turned to him, an optic ridge raised. "Your timing was spot on, by the way."

"There was a bit of trouble back on Cybertron," Doubletake said. He started into the ship and Wheeljack followed him.

"What kind of trouble?"

"Some time after you left with the Commander, some Decepticons launched an attack on the Iacon control centre," Doubletake explained. The pair, followed by Wildstrike with Skystreaker tagging along slightly further back, made their way deeper into the shipwreck. The walls were covered with dirt and sand, with cables hanging from the ceiling and broken computer terminals scattered about. "We fought them off, but most of them got killed in the fighting. One of them we captured mentioned something about their leader being on Earth, so Wildstrike and I decided to come here and get in touch with you and the others." Doubletake paused as they came to a door. It was partially open, enough for him to fit his hands through and force it the rest of the way. It grinded on its moorings loudly, the noise echoing throughout the dead ship's interior.

"I'm betting their leader's Cyclonus," Wheeljack said. "He's the big shot Decepticon here. Calls himself a 'General'. Real classy type. And a real good liar, if what you say is true."

"Maybe." Doubletake rolled the flare between his metal teeth as he walked into the control room past the door. Part of the wall nearby had been opened up, the panelling gone to reveal a makeshift lever connected to several cables that snaked across the floor and into the wall. Ratchet had likely set that up when the Autobots had come here years before to salvage what they could, a means of powering up the ship to an extent. Doubletake had probably read reports on those actions, judging from the way he navigated the ship as if he had been here before.

"He wanted to negotiate," Wheeljack added. He stopped by the main control panel while Doubletake put a hand to the lever and pulled. There was a whirring sound from somewhere deep in the ship as the main power generator spun into life, switching on the many lights dotted throughout. The control room and the corridor outside became bathed in a subdued bluish glow. The main screen at the wall ahead switched on, reverting to a standard blue display as the system booted itself into life. Information in Cybertronian glyphs scrolled across the screen and gradually, as the seconds went by, the display shaped itself into something properly discernible. Ship status information appeared on the left half of it, with a schematic appearing next to it and many sections being highlighted in the red. Half of the ship was missing.

"He was full of shit from the beginning," Wheeljack said. Doubletake, with the large, oversized rifle stuck to his back, approached the control panel before the main screen and began tapping away at the holographic buttons with his fingers. He seemed to know exactly what he was searching for.

Wildstrike stopped nearby and crossed her arms.

"The Decepticon we interrogated did not say he followed Cyclonus," she said.

"I doubt he'd give up that kind of information..."

"He said he was a follower of Nova Prime. We didn't gain much more from him, since he succumbed to his wounds."

Nova Prime? Wheeljack frowned. He had heard that name before, but only in passing. One of the original thirteen Primes, Nova Prime was the sort of mystical figure that Wheeljack had never much believed in. The old myths and legends were just that.

"And he said his leader was on Earth?" Wheeljack asked. "Because there's no Nova Prime on Earth." _At least, I don't think there is._

"Nova Prime's an old legend. I had to study history at the Elite Guard Academy." Wildstrike turned to Wheeljack as she recited off this information matter-of-factly. "He was an expansionist and a supremacist. The most morally dubious of all the thirteen original Primes. According to the stories, the other Primes turned against him. They must have killed him or something, the sources contradict each other."

"And there's a Cult about him now?"

"There's Cults for all of them now," Doubletake interjected. "A lot of Decepticons, and plenty of Autobots, are turning to faith in this post-war world." He paused, surveying the screen ahead. He appeared to be lightly chewing on the flare he had jutting from his mouth.

"What's with the flare?" Wheeljack asked.

"Hmm?" Doubletake turned his head, an optic ridge raised.

"The flare. In your mouth. You obsessive-compulsive or something?"

Doubletake shook his head.

"No. Chewing on it helps me concentrate." He turned his gaze back to the screen. Wheeljack felt somewhat lost in his current situation, especially since Doubletake seemed so sure of what he was doing. The Autobot Wrecker's current state of mind had become one of pessimism, a significant change from his usually cynical attitude. Being held prisoner by humans and hunted down would do that to an Autobot, especially one like him.

"We're not going to find anything in here," Wheeljack said. "This place was stripped clean more than once."

"I've been on ships like this before. I've searched them for contraband. That includes guns. And that's one thing we're going to need if we're going to deal with Cyclonus and the rest of the Decepticons here on Earth, as well as those humans you and Magnus apparently pissed off enough for them to shoot at you."

"That wasn't our fault."

Doubletake said nothing in response to that.

"Have you got a plan, Wheeljack?" Wildstrike asked. Wheeljack looked at her. He had no plan, beyond 'killing those who wanted to kill him'. And that in itself was not so much a 'plan' as it was an 'idea'. An idea he intended to put into practice, hence the 'plan' issue.

"I was going to put something together to find Bumblebee," Wheeljack said. "I think the 'Cons got him and they either brainwashed him or replaced him with a double, maybe a Shifter." He still had the signal beacon he had found at Unit-E headquarters, even if he had no real idea how he would make any real use of that. "And Knock Out. Can't forget about that guy. He's gone missing too."

"What do the humans have to do with this?"

"I don't know. They're probably working with the 'Cons. Just a wild guess." Wheeljack was still very confused as to what exactly was going on where the Decepticons and the Taskforce were involved. Were those two factions really working together?

"Well, if you want to find Bumblebee, you could probably use the scanners here," Doubletake said. "Why do you think I came here? With this, I can do a continent-wide scan for Decepticon energy signatures."

"They'll be disguised..."

"Weapon signatures. There's four of us, five if you count Magnus. We need guns. That's partly why you went to Unit-E, isn't it?"

Wheeljack nodded. Doubletake was striking him as a bit of a 'know-it-all', the sort of individual that Wheeljack made it a point to avoid, if only because he would likely develop the urge to tear out his voice-box.

"You're right, of course. Cyclonus' ship will be cloaked from the scanners. But any Cybertronian weaponry that isn't on that ship won't be. And we'll be able to track your friend Deadeye from here if we tune the scanners properly."

"Let me guess," Wheeljack said. He did not bother to hide the disdain from his voice. "You're a computer expert as well as a cop?"

"My knowledge of the systems here is adequate," Doubletake said. "And it's all I could think of doing on such short notice. Now that it's apparent that both Wildstrike and I are stuck here, with you and your Decepticon friend, it's in our best interests to work together and get to the bottom of what's going on. Cyclonus, the Taskforce, Nova Prime, whatever's going on, we'll find out."

"Here to save the day, huh?" Wheeljack had not asked for their help and he certainly did not like appearing vulnerable to these two. They had literally showed up out of nowhere, yet he could not deny how helpful they had been so far. His chances of getting at either Colonel Carver or Cyclonus (or even both) had greatly increased since the arrival of Wildstrike and Doubletake. Of course, if he found out where either of them were, he would probably head off on his own. He found he worked at his best that way, unless he had help from his fellow Wreckers. Not that there were many of them left now. _If only Bulkhead had come through that ground-bridge instead of Doubletake._

"It'll be a while before I can rig the scanners here to find what we need," Doubletake said. "Since you're the only qualified engineer and demolitions expert here, Wheeljack, you'll have to do the heavy lifting. The scanning array on this ship needs to be patched up and aligned properly."

Doubletake struck him as just a bit too friendly. He was acting as if he had known Wheeljack for years. Maybe it was just the way he was, even if it was somewhat at odds with his gravelly voice.

The conversation was interrupted when Ultra Magnus' voice filtered through his comms system. Wheeljack stood, listening carefully, surprised to hear the chief after all of this time.

_"Wheeljack, do you read me?"_

"Chief, what's going on?" Wheeljack said. The others in the room turned to look at him. From the outside, it looked like he was talking to himself. _Humans sometimes say that's the first sign of madness._

_"Things have become complicated."_

"Things were already complicated," Wheeljack replied. "What's happened now?"

_"I'm taking Darby and Fowler to find Rafael. The Taskforce are on their way to him as well. If they get to him before we do, there will likely be a fight. I may need backup."_

"Well, chief, you'll never guess who showed up when I went to Unit-E." Wheeljack adjusted his comms, "opening" it up to the others so that they could chime in. "Wildstrike and Doubletake are here with me."

"Sir," Wildstrike said, becoming stiffer than usual. These Elite Guard types were often like that, save for Smokescreen who had struck Wheeljack as being a bit too boisterous for his own good. Wildstrike, though, she had 'by-the-book' written all over her. She and Ultra Magnus would be a perfect match, not that the chief ever showed any interest in that sort of thing.

_"Wildstrike, has Wheeljack briefed you on the situation?"_

"Partially." Wildstrike narrowed her optics towards Wheeljack. "If you need my help sir, just give me your location and I'll get there ASAP."

_"I'm transmitting my intended destination to you right now. And Wheeljack, are you coming?"_

"Doubletake and I are going to refit the scanners on the _Harbinger_, see if we can't find some 'Cons with them. I'll come along if you need me to, chief. You were just as unarmed as I was, last I checked."

Doubletake took his rifle from his back and handed it to Wildstrike.

"This is Doubletake, sir. Don't worry about a thing." Doubletake interjected. "Wildstrike's bringing along some heavy firepower with her." He looked towards the female, tapping one hand on the side of the weapon. "You take good care of that, all right?"

Wheeljack detected genuine concern in his voice. Apparently Doubletake was just as attached to his rifle as Wheeljack was to his swords (or just 'sword' now that he was down to just one).

"You still want me to come, boss?" Wheeljack asked. There was a pause on the other end of the line. Could the Decepticons track this signal? Ultra Magnus would certainly have done his best to secure it, but nothing was ever completely secure.

_"You stay with Doubletake. If you can get those scanners working, we'll have an easier mission ahead of us. And Wildstrike, I'll see you soon."_

"Always glad to lend a hand, sir." Wildstrike looked to the others. "I'll get going." She ducked out then, brushing by Skystreaker, glancing at her cautiously as she went by.

_"Is Skystreaker still with you, Wheeljack?"_

"Yeah, she is." Wheeljack looked towards her. She returned his gaze and he found himself smirking for no proper reason.

_"You keep an eye on her."_

"You don't trust her, boss?"

_"Just keep an eye on her. I want to know how she figures into all of this. For now, Ultra Magnus out."_

The connection was cut then, leaving Wheeljack thankfully free of the Autobot Commander's voice breaking into his head. He eyed Skystreaker carefully, still unsure of what to think of her.

"You think you could lend a hand round here?" Wheeljack asked her. He walked towards her and she raised one optic ridge slightly.

"I don't know. The physical labour might scratch my finish." She smiled at him. Wheeljack rolled his optics in response. Doubletake watched the pair with a straight face, rolling the flare between his metal teeth absently.

"All the better then. I like a girl who isn't afraid to get her hands dirty."


	23. Rendezvous

**Rendezvous**

It was about three o'clock when Ultra Magnus came to a halt outside Rafael's home, a short drive outside of Las Vegas. The now twenty-one year old aspiring scientist had not travelled too far from Jasper when he had gone out into the world and he had maintained close ties to Unit-E throughout the last nine years, an organization that was very much situated in the heartland of Nevada. His life was pretty much set, although Jack had a feeling the events of the last twenty-four hours had done a thorough job of completely ruining that.

Rafael's home was a modest property, one nestled out of the way on a hill not far from a posh country club. The house itself was nothing too fancy, being a single floor affair of a fairly average size, but the government had been kind enough to pay for most of its selling price given his connections to Unit-E and Fowler's own recommendations. Beyond the property, there was desert and hills for as far as the eye could see. The city of Las Vegas with its colourful buildings was far off in the distance. The sky above was mostly cloudless, the heat as unrelenting as it so often was. The country club some distance away was a lush green that contrasted starkly against the yellow and brown of the desert, situated a fair drive down the hill and past several houses similar to Rafael's.

Jack sat in the passenger's seat, eyeing the house carefully. He did not even know if Rafael was home. He had tried calling ahead, only to receive no answer. For all he knew, the Taskforce could have got here first. He turned to Fowler, who was seated in the driver's position. The older man was likely having similar thoughts. They could walk into that house and end up in a trap, much like how their trip to find Miko had very much been one. Albeit a trap that Captain Van Cleef had hoped the police could take care of, not one that the Taskforce itself could be really bothered with. Van Cleef was counting on Jack bowing out and giving himself up. The more Jack thought about this, the more he wanted to prove to the man just how badly he had misjudged him. Fighting Decepticons was one thing, going up against a human black ops group could hardly be any worse, could it? Maybe it was naive for him to think this, as he had seen what the Taskforce was capable of first-hand. They had only slightly more caution regarding innocent lives as the Decepticons had, and since the Decepticons had _none_, then that was saying something.

"Are we going in?" Fowler asked him.

Jack, his train of thought broken, looked up and simply nodded. The doors flung open then and both men climbed out of the vehicle.

"Keep watch out here, Magnus," Fowler said. He slapped the panelling on the side of the vehicle. Ultra Magnus shifted his engine into gear and moved further up the street before he parked off to the side.

Fowler kept his pistol in his jacket. Jack had since loaded the revolver he had acquired and kept it tucked underneath the belt at his waist, with the spare bullets filling his pockets. There was no one else out here, so he did not need to worry about any locals seeing him walk up to the front of the house with a gun visible at his waist. He rang the doorbell, hearing the chime resound throughout the building. After a moment, he rang it again. He was sweating fairly profusely now, partly because of the heat and partly because of the stress. He did not want to lose Rafael, not so soon after losing Miko. Even if the latter were still alive, he had no idea where she was or how he would even get to her if he did know. It was something that ate away at his mind, nibbling away at his resolve and it was the kind of nibble that would only worsen if he did not find Rafael.

Finally, the door did open. Jack breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Rafael, although the confusion evident on the younger man's face was understandable. He was tall, as tall as Jack, and was of an average build. His wavy brown hair had been cut fairly short, giving him a more businesslike appearance. He wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and he was currently dressed in a dark blue polo shirt and baggy cargo pants. He looked as if he had just woken up, from the way he rubbed his eyes and how his hair appeared unkempt.

"Jack, what are you doing here?" He asked. His eyes went to Fowler and he raised his eyebrows, confusion dancing across his face. "And Fowler?"

"Have you seen the news?" Jack asked. He stepped inside, brushing past Rafael in a manner somewhat more forceful than he had intended.

"I had a late night," Rafael replied. Fowler followed Jack inside and closed the door behind them. The inside of the house, with the living room to the right and a hallway ahead that travelled down its length, was amazingly tidy. There was no clutter, not even on the mantelpiece nearby which was surprisingly lacking of actual display items. There was a framed picture on one wall, a few years old photograph of the Esquivel family with Rafael in the middle. The television was switched on, but instead of news there was a tacky game show being aired.

There was a large window at the front, in the living room. The curtains were partially open and Jack walked over to it, peering through it to look out onto the street. Ultra Magnus was still visible, parked across the cobblestone drive way. He maintained a watchful eye on their surroundings, even if it did not immediately appear that he was.

At one end of the living room was a 'shrine' of sorts, as the Esquivel family had been churchgoers and even though Rafael was not quite a religious person, he had a photo of his father on a shelf there, along with a small statue of Christ on the cross and a painting of the Virgin Mary. Jack sometimes wondered if he could ever get into that sort of thing, even if recent events had shown him that if there was a higher power, it did not give a shit about him or anyone else he knew for that matter.

"When did you wake up?" Jack asked.

Rafael glanced at the digital watch at his left wrist.

"About eleven," he replied.

"Jesus," Jack muttered. "What do you do all night?"

"Uh...work, mostly."

Jack nodded slowly. Rafael had changed a fair bit in the nine years since the Decepticon-Autobot conflict had ended. "I'm doing a research project, through correspondence. A lot of staring at a computer screen and sorting algorithms, that sort of thing. And even after I've done all that, I get caught up with my own personal projects."

"Aren't you on a break?"

Rafael nodded slowly. Vacation meant little to him. If anything, he much preferred working, even if he was supposed to be relaxing at home.

"I can't help it, Jack," Rafael said. "I can't just sit at home and play computer games all day. It just doesn't feel right to me."

Jack stepped away from the window. He walked over to the television set and put a finger to one of the buttons on the side, pressing it repeatedly as to flick through the channels.

"You do know we're wanted fugitives, right?" He asked.

"What?"

"Fowler and I. We're wanted fugitives." Jack found a news report where they replayed Colonel Carver's speech from earlier, complete with unflattering mug-shots of both Jack and Fowler. Jack motioned Rafael to watch and he saw the younger man's eyes widen noticeably as he saw the mug-shots in question. His surprise and confusion quickly morphed into something even more serious when footage of Bumblebee firing on the President's helicopter played for what was likely the umpteenth time today. 'Alien terrorists' at work.

"Hang on, what?" Rafael rushed forwards to get a closer look. Seeing Bumblebee take down a helicopter had certainly caught his attention. "What's going on? What did 'Bee do?"

"There's no real time to explain," Jack said. "We've got black ops guys after us. And they're coming after you."

Rafael turned to face him, his face scrunched up into a disbelieving grimace. Fowler stood nearby, keeping watch through the window. His hand drifted close to where he was keeping his pistol.

"What? How do you know they're coming after me?"

"Because one of them told me." Jack would have liked to have properly eased Rafael into the situation, but there was no real time for that. The longer they stayed here, the more likely it was for the Taskforce to rock up and for trouble to start.

"Pack your things," Jack added. "We have to leave."

"What?" Rafael was apparently at a loss for words, since 'what' was about all he had managed to muster in the last minute or so. "You can't just come here and drag me to God knows where..."

"Raf, listen to me." Jack put on a more forceful tone. "The Autobots are being hunted down. Ultra Magnus is outside right now waiting for us. Fowler and I have had to dodge cops and black ops guys since this morning. I was in the middle of a _battle_ only hours ago because the Taskforce turned against me. They were shooting at me, Raf. And they'll shoot at you, they've got no problems doing that. They want me dead, they want Fowler dead and they want the Autobots dead."

"But I thought the Taskforce..."

"Were trustworthy? So did I. It's not every day your own country turns against you." He paused, letting his words sink in. "That's why it's important that you grab your things and come with me right now. This is bigger than us, and it's bad. And if we die and the Autobots die, then the future of this country, and of humanity in general, could be heading down a real bad path. That's why they want us dead. Because we're the ones who could completely ruin their plans."  
"And what are their plans?"

Jack shrugged. He could only speculate as to what the Decepticons on Earth were planning, but as for Colonel Carver, he got the impression that the man had a coup d'état in mind. That, and he had his own designs for humanity's future.

"Shit," Fowler said. Jack walked over to the window and looked through it to the front of the property. Several men in black assault vests and tan combat outfits had come running from the shrubs and trees that lined the property, each one armed with either a submachine gun or a shotgun. They seemingly came out of nowhere, presumably having left their vehicles behind some distance away as to make a stealthy approach. At the front, there were about a dozen of them in total. They spread out across the lawn, weapons at the ready.

"Is this what you were talking about?" Rafael asked. Jack turned to him and saw the fear in his eyes. Jack could feel it himself, but he did his best to hide it. There was no real escape open to them right now, save for Ultra Magnus who would likely get caught up holding these people off.

"You got a car?" Jack asked.

"Yeah. It's in the garage."

"Fetch the keys. We're leaving."

Fowler turned to them. By now, he had pulled his SIG pistol from his jacket and had it clutched in his right hand.

"We're just going to drive away from these guys?" Fowler sounded understandably sceptical. "They've probably got a chopper on the way. And they've likely got guys moving in on the building's rear."

"We have to try," Jack said. Even he did not have a great deal of faith in the 'running away' tactic. However, it was really all he could think of at the moment. He and Fowler had been improvising for most of today, a little bit more would not make much of a difference.

Jack glanced through the window. There looked to be a dozen of them all up, plus one very familiar figure who appeared to be directing them. Captain Van Cleef was in his usual black uniform, complete with blue beret. He carried a pump-action shotgun as he came striding out of the bushes. And, somewhat foolishly, Jack looked straight at him. Their gazes met and a smile crept onto the Captain's face. He motioned to the operatives to move forward. It was as if he had been looking forward to this. Knowing him, he probably had been. A way to take out one major problem with a minimum of legwork. Well, Jack was not going to make things easy on him. Outnumbered and outgunned, they at least had Ultra Magnus here. And even though he was unarmed, a veteran Autobot warrior without a weapon still made for an imposing target.

Jack cocked his .38 snub-nosed revolver. He had never needed to actually kill a fellow human being before. It was not something he thought he would ever need to do. For all the proof and knowledge they had of hostile alien races, it appeared that humanity would never get above its desire to kill one another.

There were a few reasons why Jack had agreed to join Unit-E. Hoping to unite humanity on some sort of common ground in response to alien threats was one of them. The Taskforce had promised something similar, albeit with a far more active involvement. Now, though, they had turned against him, simply for standing up in the defence of his alien friends. Maybe he was a traitor, but a traitor to whatever warped cause the Taskforce was fighting for.

An operative carrying an Anti-Material Cannon appeared from within the bushes. These people had obviously come prepared for Cybertronian involvement. Van Cleef motioned the operatives to flank and somewhere at the back of the house, there came a very audible _thump!_

"They're at the back!" Fowler shouted. He started down the hallway, pistol at the ready. Jack remained at the front of the house and promptly hit the floor, dragging Rafael down with him, when some of the operatives opened fire. Submachine guns sounded off, the rapid _brack-brack-brack_ of multiple automatic weapons firing echoed loudly across the property. The front window shattered, showering Rafael and Jack with shards of glass. Parts of the couch in front of it was ripped to pieces, fabric tearing away and white foam spilling out as 9mm and .45 ACP rounds tore into it. Jack and Rafael remained low, with Jack crawling along the floor in the direction of a doorway ahead. This lead into the kitchen, a place he figured would be slightly better for defence than the exposed living room.

Fowler came to the laundry at the rear just as an operative came storming in. This one carried a shotgun and went to raise it as soon as he laid eyes upon Fowler. The Agent was quicker on the trigger, planting two bullets through the operative's vest. The operative pulled the trigger, his aim wide as he stumbled backwards through the doorway. The buckshot found its home in a washing machine on Fowler's left, causing the top of it to explode in a shower of sparks and metal fragments. Fowler stumbled backwards, watching as the operative tumbled back down the steps and landed in a heap on the dirt outside.

Two of the operatives came charging through the window at the living room, the first of which dived through it and hit the ground in a somersault. Jack rose to his feet by the doorway while Rafael, somewhat understandably, remained prone on the living room floor with his hands covering his ears. He had never been in a situation quite like this, nor had Jack for that matter, but where the adrenaline made Rafael practically freeze up, Jack on the other hand felt the urge to stand his ground and fight back. The first operative through the window came up firing an MP5K, hosing the wall by Jack with bullets. Plaster exploded outwards, covering Jack in white dust as he raised his revolver and let off a shot. This one hit the operative in the neck and for a moment Jack, upon realising just what he had done, remained standing where he was, stunned as blood spurted out of the gaping neck wound. The operative fell backwards, blood spilling across the beige carpet. Jack rushed forwards upon seeing the second operative come jumping in through the window. He picked up Rafael with one arm, dragging him to his feet while his free-hand aimed the revolver and began pulling the trigger. One, two and then three shots were fired. The operative twitched and convulsed with each impact before finally falling backwards, disappearing behind the couch.

Fowler ran into the kitchen then as an operative appeared at the window there. There was a spray of automatic weapons fire and the glass shattered, bullets hammering into the kitchen bench-top. Fowler ducked, letting out a cry of pain as a bullet struck him in the left arm. Nonetheless, he raised his pistol and began shooting, emptying several rounds into the operative's direction. Spots of blood erupted at his chest and he fell backwards, emitting a pained grunt. Fowler's magazine clicked on empty and he ducked behind the kitchen bench, one hand going into his jacket to find a new magazine.

Another operative came storming in then. Jack stepped into the kitchen as he raced inside, levelling his submachine gun as he quickly surveyed the room. Jack fired a shot from his revolver, catching the operative in the shoulder. He stumbled briefly and Jack went to fire again, only to find that the weapon was empty.

Fowler stood up then, his gun still empty. However, he lunged for the operative instead, punching him square across the jaw, causing him to fall backwards against the wall. Fowler reached for the wooden block housing the many assorted kitchen knives on the bench here, pulling out the biggest one. He did not hesitate to plunge it into the man's neck, severing an artery and sending blood spurting out across his jacket.

Jack watched this with wide eyes. He had hardly figured Fowler capable of such an act. The older man turned to him, leaving the body of the operative to slump lifelessly to the floor, smearing the white wallpaper behind it with blood.

"You can't hesitate, Jack," he said. "These people sure as hell won't."

Somewhere outside, there was the unmistakable whirr of a Cybertronian transforming. Ultra Magnus went running by the window, heading for the front of the house in an effort to defend it. Jack stepped through the sliding door leading out of the kitchen and into the backyard. Someone fired a shotgun from somewhere up ahead, blowing a chunk out of the wall near him. He stepped back into the cover of the doorway, leaning around it as he searched for the shooter. There were two operatives in the backyard, one of whom had crouched down by the fence and was pointing a shotgun in Jack's general direction. He let off another shot, sending a shower of brick dust pluming into Jack's face.

Ultra Magnus stepped into view, knocking over the fence with one leg as he stepped in front of Jack, shielding him from view of the shooter. However, somewhere an Anti-Material Cannon fired and there was a small explosion at the Autobot Commander's back. He fell forwards, smoke pluming from the small hole that had been punched through the armour there.

"Magnus! Get us out of here!" Jack shouted. He heard a subdued metal clanking noise from the front of the house and turned to look into the living room. A grenade had landed in the middle of that room, a noticeably red grenade, cylindrical in shape. Jack dived to the floor, taking Rafael down with him, as the incendiary grenade detonated. A massive burst of flame filled the living room, scorching the furniture and floors. Some of the heat washed over into the kitchen, smoke pouring out of the newly-created fires. The Taskforce was going to burn the place down. Flames licked at the little shrine in the living room, melting away the framed photo of Rafael's father. Christ on the cross continued looking solemn, even as the intense heat melted the statue into a runny mess.

Ultra Magnus balled a hand into a fist as he was down on all fours. He swatted aside one of the operatives in the backyard, sending him flying into the wooden fence where the impact sent him straight through it, wood panels and all. Fowler ran for the door, heading out into the backyard. Jack followed, with one hand clutching one of Rafael's arms. The younger man looked dazed, understandable given the situation. Jack was doing all he could to remain in control.

Outside, the side-gate was abruptly forced open. Van Cleef stepped into view, shotgun raised. Fowler turned to face him, firing off a shot from his pistol that clipped the Captain in the upper arm. Ahead, Ultra Magnus had shifted back into his truck mode, both doors open. Jack began to run towards it, dragging Rafael along as he went.

Fowler fired another shot, blood dripping down his left arm from the wound he had received moments earlier. Van Cleef hit the ground, rolling to one side before he fired a shot. The buckshot connected with Fowler's chest. Jack bundled Rafael into the driver's cabin of the truck before turning around, watching with increasing horror as Fowler fell backwards, blood all over the front of his shirt and jacket.

Jack saw Van Cleef rising to his feet. The young agent began to fumble with his revolver while the Captain started to advance, followed by a pair of operatives. All three of them began to fire their weapons, hammering Ultra Magnus' side with a hail of bullets and buckshot. Jack stumbled backwards into the driver's cabin, dropping a handful of .38 bullets as he went. The door slammed shut and the engine kicked into life, sending them roaring across the backyard before they went straight through the far fence.

"Where's Fowler?" Rafael yelled. tears were streaming down his face. Jack looked at him, somewhat vacantly as the reality of what had happened began to hit home. Nonetheless, he took a deep breath and continued to load his revolver using whatever bullets he could dig out of his pockets. Ahead, Ultra Magnus sent them trundling down a hill, flattening some dry shrubs as they went. The ground levelled out abruptly as they came onto a winding narrow road. Ultra Magnus swerved, sending them by several houses similar to Rafael's. As for Rafael's house, it was now in the process of burning down, black smoke pouring from the flames and rising high over the desert.

"_Where is he?"_ Rafael screamed and Jack remained silent. Ultra Magnus did not say anything either. What was there to say, really? There was nothing they could do now but get as far away from the Taskforce as possible. That in itself would be tricky, Jack knew this, even now they were being pursued. Above, a jet roared into view, distinctly Cybertronian in its appearance. The noise caught the attention of both humans, who peered up through the windshield at the jet as it came swooping down low. For a moment, Jack thought it might have been Skystreaker. However, the fact that it sent a pair of missiles zooming their way quickly dashed that possibility.

_"Hold on,"_ Ultra Magnus said. He braked abruptly, one of the missiles sweeping over them before it slammed into the road up ahead. The explosion caused the ground beneath to shake, dirt and debris raining down upon the driver's cabin. Ultra Magnus was quick to put the engine back into gear, sending them shooting forwards as the second missile hit the road to their left. The whole vehicle buckled at the proximity of the explosion, but the Autobot Commander was quick to regain control.

The jet shot overhead and began to rise in altitude, rolling to the left slightly as it prepared to make another pass. Ultra Magnus floored the accelerator, sending them hurtling forwards, tearing down the narrow, winding road. The Decepticon jet had turned around now, this time bringing its nose-cannon to bear. A stream of high-calibre tracer rounds rained down on the road around Ultra Magnus, causing the Autobot Commander to drive in a zig-zag in an effort to avoid the hail of fire. The bullets tore into the road and some pinged into Ultra Magnus himself, one of which shot straight through the driver's cabin and narrowly missed Rafael. The Autobot grunted from the pain but kept on driving, hardly one to let a few minor wounds stop him.

* * *

Deadeye arrived on the scene of the burning house just in time to see the Decepticon jet shoot by. He shifted himself out of his vehicle form, coming to stand on the narrow road at the front of the property. Here, Taskforce people milled about, including Van Cleef who was sporting a bleeding gash at his upper left arm. He looked up at the Autobot as he arrived, all the while a medic bandaged up his wound.

"Don't just stand there," Van Cleef barked. Deadeye narrowed his optics; he had begun to dislike this human a great deal over the last twelve hours. "Get after them."

"What happened here?" Deadeye glanced at the burning house. Apparently no one here cared enough to put a hose to the flames.

"None of your concern," Van Cleef said. He rose to his feet, causing the medic to follow suit. "Just get after Magnus. He and his human friends are trying to make a getaway."

"And what about that jet?"

"What jet?"

"The 'Con jet." Deadeye could tell that Van Cleef was only feigning ignorance. Humans were so easy to read. "That wasn't Skystreaker."

"So?"

"What are the 'Cons doing here?" Deadeye's levels of uncertainty regarding the Taskforce had been on the rise ever since the battle at the compound. The presence of Decepticons here only made it all the more intense.

"They're not supposed to be here, china. They're interlopers."

"But convenient interlopers, I guess?" Deadeye crossed his arms. He had no desire to take this human's orders anymore. He had already done enough harm for one day. "All the while you tell me to go and hunt down fellow Autobots. All the while you _kill_ the people who get in your way."  
Van Cleef's stern expression turned to one of anger. The man apparently had a short temper, either that or all that had happened today was beginning to take its toll on him.

"We had a deal, hot-shot," Van Cleef said through gritted teeth. "You do what we say..."

"The deal didn't involve hunting Autobots," Deadeye interrupted. "I might not have much love for some of them, but they're still my own. And going out of your way to get Darby and Fowler? you haven't much for subtlety." He nodded towards the burning house. One whole wall of it fell over then, flames jumping onto a set of bushes close to it.

"Just do as you're told..."

"Or what? You'll kill me?" Deadeye raised an optic-ridge. There was nothing these humans could do to him that he was afraid of.

"We'll do what we have to," Van Cleef replied.

Deadeye shook his head. Was this what the Taskforce was really about? Had he been working with the wrong people all of this time? He had stayed away from Cybertron to keep out of the post-war politics. He preferred the fighting, taking down Decepticons was dangerous yet satisfying. Here, on Earth, it appeared he had simply fallen into a whole different set of politics. Had the Autobots really killed the President? Perhaps, but was it any of his business? In fact, had any of this Earth stuff been his business to begin with?

"I'm going for a drive, Captain," Deadeye said. He turned around, all the while Van Cleef watched with anger visible in his eyes. Even so, he had returned to wearing a straight-face, his momentary loss of control nothing more than that. "I might come back. Or I might not." Deadeye shrugged then, before quickly transforming back into the luxury coupe he had adopted as his Earth vehicle form. Before Van Cleef could say anything, Deadeye had sped off, heading back the way he had come. Deadeye had needed to resist the urge to crush Van Cleef in his bare hands; staying any longer there might have resulted in him doing just that. At least now he could get some proper time to himself, without Van Cleef or Carver barking orders at him all the time.

* * *

Ultra Magnus brought himself to a halt by the parking lot of a country club. The lush greens of the golf course stood in stark contrast to the surrounding desert. Nearby, the Decepticon jet circled the area, pondering its next course of action.

As for Jack, he realised something was wrong as soon as Ultra Magnus stopped. The Autobot Commander had taken a beating, his windows smashed and several holes punched into his form. His voice, usually strong and authoritative, filtered through the speakers on the dashboard with a raspy edge:

_"Get out, make a run for it. I'll keep this one distracted."_

"Magnus, you're hurt," Jack said. He had to reel in his emotions, as his voice threatened to become a feeble croak with what had happened to Fowler still predominantly on his mind. "I'm not going to leave you here to take on that 'Con alone."

Rafael was noticeably shaking, the stress of everything likely a bit too much for him to handle. Everything had happened so quickly and his life, at least his normal life, had been effectively ruined within minutes. The fact that his house continued to burn on the hill in the distance was practically symbolic of that fact.

"You have no weapons," Jack said. His voice broke halfway through the sentence. He did not want to lose Ultra Magnus, not so soon after losing Fowler. He hated this feeling he had, this one of powerlessness, that nothing he could do would be of any help. How could he assist against an airborne Decepticon? All he had was a revolver and about ten bullets for it. He may as well launch spit-balls at it for all the good a weapon like that would do him here. "Damn it, Magnus, I'm not going to leave you to die."

_"Don't be so negative, Jack,"_ Ultra Magnus said. The doors at both sides of the driver's cabin flung open. _"Get out, make a run for it. I'll keep this Decepticon distracted."_

Jack, with some reluctance, climbed out of the vehicle. He had to drag Rafael out of the other side, keeping one arm around him as they began to rush away from the Autobot Commander.

There were several cars parked outside of the country club while an elderly man in golfing gear stood by the entrance to the administration building. He had been watching the house on the hill in the distance burn down, although now his gaze floated towards the two men heading his way, one of whom visibly carried a gun. Whatever he was about to say in regards to that, the words were stolen from him as Ultra Magnus transformed, standing tall in biped mode at the far end of the car-park.

Jack looked back and saw the Autobot Commander, his frame dented and scorched in places. Several small holes had been put into his armoured frame, some of which leaked bright blue energon fluid. He hardly looked up to the task of fighting an airborne Decepticon. Yet nonetheless he turned to face it as it came in for another strafing run. Jack pushed Rafael towards the door of the administration building. He himself did not run in after him. He could not simply leave Ultra Magnus out here. He had to help somehow, even if right now he had no idea what he could do in that regard.

* * *

Ultra Magnus dived to one side as the Decepticon jet's front cannon opened fire, hammering the tarmac around him with a hail of high-calibre rounds. Some of them pinged off of his armour, a few struck the lighter-armoured sections of his form, drawing yet more energon fluid. He hit the ground hard but was back on his feet within seconds. He ran for a parked semi-trailer, crouching behind it as the jet, already far off into the distance, began to roll on its ailerons in preparation for another run. Ultra Magnus was unarmed, he did not have the means to fight back. He had removed his on-board weapons before coming to Earth, as he had assumed the trip would not turn into a violent one. Even now, he silently cursed himself for not bringing at least a side-arm. His whole body ached and his wounds stung painfully. He should have guessed that the Taskforce was in league with the Decepticons, after all that had happened so far.

Suddenly, there was a shout from nearby. A familiar voice, one he had not been expecting to hear, yelled out from somewhere off to his right.

_"Commander!"_

Ultra Magnus turned to watch as Wildstrike emerged from his vehicle mode, that of an Earth-based SWAT vehicle. Her momentum carried her forwards some distance before she planted her feet down and dug hard against the tarmac. At her back was a large rifle, one that she snatched from there with one hand and threw in her Commander's direction. Had the circumstances been different, Ultra Magnus would have asked her just what she was doing on Earth. She had her duties back on Cybertron after all. However, he was not going to question the help and certainly not the high-power rifle she had just throw his way.

Ultra Magnus jumped to his feet and snatched the rifle from the air. Clutching it in both hands, he switched off the safety and a slight hum emanated from it as the weapon powered up. Narrow gaps along the edge of the barrel, designed to expel the volatile gases and prevent overheating, glowed a bright blue. The Decepticon jet came screaming for him, preparing to let fly with a pair of missiles. The Autobot Commander stood his ground and pulled the trigger on the rifle. A bright blue streak of energy lanced forth, searing the air along its path before it connected with the Decepticon jet's right wing. Flame and smoke exploded from the impact and the jet went spiralling out of control. The Decepticon transformed out of vehicle mode mere seconds before it hit the ground, knocking aside a parked sedan before slamming into the short brick wall that surrounded the perimeter of the parking lot off to Ultra Magnus' left. The Decepticon was a Seeker no less, purple and black in colour, what remained of his wings tucked aside at his back. One of them had been sheared clean off and had come to a rest several metres from the groaning Decepticon.

Ultra Magnus looked over to Wildstrike, who had closed the distance between them and stopped nearby. She had shifted her right arm into a standard energy cannon. She smiled at him when their gazes met. It was only a fleeting movement and was quickly replaced with a far more business-like demeanour.

"It's good to see you alive, sir," she said.

Ultra Magnus did not reply. He was more concerned with their attacker, who had since rolled onto his belly and was slowly but surely crawling away. Smoke poured from the gaping hole at his back from which energon fluid poured freely. Metal had melted, deformed and twisted around the wound, no doubt causing the flyer incredible pain. Ultra Magnus stopped behind him, clasping the rifle in his right hand before he leaned forwards and forcefully grabbed the back of the Seeker's neck. He turned him over, landing him on his wounds, the sensation enough to get a scream out of the Decepticon.

"Skywarp," Ultra Magnus spat. He had seen this one before, during the war. It had been a long time since he had last run into him and for a moment he thought he might have identified him wrongly. Half of his face was gone, the optic there with it, leaving an exposed endoskeleton and a crude patchwork of metal plating. It looked like he had needed to do some serious DIY-medicine at some point, recent as well judging from the fresh look of the weld points.

Wildstrike stepped into view on his left. She looked down at the Decepticon, keeping a straight-face even as he looked her right in the optics. She pointed her cannon directly at his head. Ultra Magnus could see that she was seriously considering executing him right there and then.

"No," Ultra Magnus ordered. He put out his free-hand, clutching Wildstrike's extended arm, lowering it for her. "We need to question him. There are some things I want to know."

Jack came running up from the administration building of the country club, at the far end of the car park. Rafael followed, albeit slower and with an understandably solemn look on his face. Both humans looked beaten and dirty, and the 'beaten' part seemingly extended to their state-of-mind as well. Ultra Magnus could certainly empathise. Fowler had been a friend and valuable ally. For all he had done to help in the fight against the Decepticons, there was something almost cruelly ironic in the way he had been slain by those of his own species.

"Is he with the Taskforce?" Jack asked. Skywarp turned his head, eyeing the human with noticeable disdain.

_"Are you?"_ Ultra Magnus leaned forwards, using his free-hand to grab the Decepticon's chin as to turn his head towards him. Skywarp looked like he was about to say something but instead spat a globule of energon fluid out of his mouth. It hit Ultra Magnus on the chin. He was not one to let something like that get to him and so with his left hand he wiped it away, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on Skywarp. Ultra Magnus, with the rifle clutched in his right hand, shifted it in such a way that he forced the barrel into Skywarp's mouth. He was not actually going to shoot him, but he figured it would be a decent means of persuasion given the circumstances.

Skywarp pushed himself away from the weapon, disgust crossing his face as Ultra Magnus lifted the barrel out from between his jagged metal teeth.

"You don't know the half of it," Skywarp said. Was he going to cave in and answer their questions? Ultra Magnus doubted it. He could lie to them and they would not know it. "I'm not 'with' them. You think I'd let myself get beholden to a bunch of _humans_?"

"Then what the hell are you doing here?" Jack was the one to ask this. The anger was clear in his tone, no doubt having built-up as a result of Fowler's demise. By now, several other humans had emerged from the country club to see what all the noise had been. They all stood some distance away, watching with a mix of fear and awe. A few were on their phones, likely calling the authorities. Either that or they were hoping to get themselves on the six o'clock news.

"I was simply lending a helping hand," Skywarp replied, venom lacing his tone. "You'd do well to keep me alive." He looked up at Ultra Magnus. There was genuine fear in his voice. Ultra Magnus and Wildstrike had the power of life and death over him and he knew this. "I could tell you about a lot of things."  
"Then tell me." Ultra Magnus asked.

"Yeah, I'll tell you." Skywarp smiled, a cruel smile at that. Ultra Magnus did not know what to make of this. Apparently Wildstrike did.

Skywarp coughed then, spitting up energon, raising his left arm weakly. Wildstrike raised her arm cannon and before Ultra Magnus could react, she had fired. The front of Skywarp's head exploded when the blue bolt of energy connected with it, scorched metal and blue energon fluid flying outwards. Ultra Magnus took a step back, optics wide as he turned to regard Wildstrike. She simply lowered the cannon and looked towards him, not a hint of remorse in her gaze.

"What the hell...?" He began to ask, but Wildstrike knelt down and brought up Skywarp's left arm. Clutched within it was a small 'hold-out' blaster. He had likely been keeping it at his back, hoping it would at least take down one of the Autobots standing over him.

"I couldn't let him shoot you, sir," Wildstrike said. She picked up the small blaster and clipped it to her thigh. "Or me, for that matter." She smiled at him. Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics but said nothing. Surely she could have wounded him? Keeping him alive would have been preferable, even if they did not have the resources to properly contain him.

"Besides, what were we going to do with him?" Wildstrike continued. She shifted her right arm back into its normal form and crossed both over her chest. "Were we going to drag him around like a pet? Unless you've got a prison around here we could have kept him in."

"We don't shoot unarmed..."

"Sir, with all due respect, he _was_ armed," Wildstrike interrupted. Ultra Magnus had trained her since she had first joined the Elite Guard. He had seen the potential in her, even if her attitude was very much a 'shoot first, questions later' sort. That, and he got the inkling that she was very much an authoritarian. He was as well, in a way, although he had come to believe that 'earning' respect was much better than gaining it through the barrel of a gun. Wildstrike, on the other hand, may have leaned towards the latter.

"Shoot to wound," Ultra Magnus said. "I needed answers from him. The situation here is out of control." He paused, the most pressing question returning to his mind then: "And just what exactly brought you to Earth, Lieutenant?"

"Decepticon uprising in Iacon, sir," Wildstrike replied. "Cultist sorts tried to take the control tower. We fought them off, but Doubletake and I thought it'd be best to come here and check out how things were going with your 'negotiation." She paused, taking a brief glance at Skywarp's corpse. "I take it they haven't gone well?"

Ultra Magnus shook his head. Jack walked up to him then.

"Magnus, we have to leave," he said. "The cops are probably on their way. The Taskforce won't be far behind."

He was right, of course. They had already delayed here long enough. Ultra Magnus was no fan of running, yet it was seemingly all he had been doing for the last twelve hours or so. At some point they would have to turn around and take the fight to the enemy. At least Wildstrike was here; the extra help was something he was grateful for.

"I think I may have an idea," Jack added. "About the Taskforce." He turned to Rafael, who had been standing close by with a sullen look on his face. "And you, Raf. I'll need your help."

He looked up, his eyes still red from the tears he had shed earlier.

"Can I rely on you, Raf?" Jack asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, you can."


	24. Spark-to-Spark

**Spark-to-Spark**

"I bet you wish you could see my face right now."

Colonel Carver was not often one for anger, but the last half hour had left him feeling flustered. He stood in the operations room in the 'Vault' complex, a room on one of the sub-levels filled to the brim with computers and surveillance equipment. He had a monitor in front of him that took up the entire wall. It was currently displaying the statuses of the known Autobots and Decepticons. He was alone, for the room had been closed off to other personnel. Despite all the 'eyes' the Taskforce had scattered across the nation, whether they be on-the-ground personnel, drones or surveillance cameras, Carver still felt blind. He had an ear-piece in his right ear and Van Cleef's voice filtered through on yet another call.

_"Decepticon involvement will complicate things..."_

"Of course it will, Captain." Carver watched the monitor in front of him carefully. On the mug-shot they had of Fowler, a large red 'X' had been placed. A small victory, a very small one at that, for it was the Autobots that concerned him the most. "Get Deadeye back. Maybe he'll lead us to the other Autobots. As for the Decepticons, I want you to get back here to the Vault. We're going to need to tackle them head-on. This 'deal' we had with them, it's off. Completely."

_"Boss, are you sure that's a good idea?"_

Carver sighed. He did not need his second-in-command questioning him, certainly not now of all times.

"Of course I'm sure, Captain. Get back here. If the Decepticons find out where their precious 'Seal' is located, they'll come knocking."

_"All right boss. I'm on my way."_

Carver ended the call then. He turned his attention to the monitor ahead as information scrolled along it. Autobots sighted outside of Las Vegas was one notification that caught his attention. Of course, this was to be expected, since that was where the Taskforce had last engaged them. He realised that almost nothing in this room had helped him in any significant way, and likely would not if the Decepticons continued to get involved. He had been planning this for months, he did not need it to fall apart now. Making the deal with Cyclonus had been a means to an end, nothing more. He had fully intended to have the self-titled Decepticon 'General' dismantled when he was no longer useful. Now, it was not just the Autobots the Taskforce would hunt down and eliminate. It was the Decepticons as well. Fighting a war on two-fronts was something any military leader would advise against, yet Carver had found himself falling into that very scenario.

He grabbed one of the computer monitors on the desk in front of him and swept it off, his anger flaring violently as the monitor connected with the carpeted floor and clunked loudly. Given the fragility of a typical LCD monitor, it occurred to him that the one now on the floor would no longer be of any use. Not that it mattered. He could buy fifty more if he wanted to.

And as quickly as it had come, his anger died down and he composed himself. Setbacks were to be expected.

* * *

Doubletake had supplied a few grenades, much to Wheeljack's delight. The Autobot Wrecker had taken three of the explosives and had used them to blow open a sealed door on the lowest deck of the _Harbinger_. It was down there that he had found some old, dusty metal crates containing some spare parts. He wondered what else could be buried deep in this wreck, at least anything that had not been stripped off of the ship already.

Wheeljack took what he had deemed useful and gone outside to aid Doubletake in refitting and repairing the ship's main scanner array. They had cobbled together a fairly makeshift metal dish that the pair had erected a short distance from the partially hidden entrance into the wreck. Cables ran along the dirt and back inside, hooked up to power supplies and the ship's computers. Doubletake had gone back in to work in the ship's control room while Wheeljack remained out in the warm desert air, doing what he could to get the jury-rigged array functioning. Any wrong move could result in the scanner becoming a "beacon" of sorts, one that would likely bring to them either the Taskforce or the Decepticons. The plan was to track down either Bumblebee or Knock Out, using the scanner to cut through whatever jamming signal or camouflage that was hiding both of them from conventional Cybertronian scanner technology. That, and the scanner should be able to pinpoint the locations of any Decepticons who may be around.

The Autobot Wrecker had his doubts about the whole exercise. A jury-rigged scanner array was not the most reliable piece of technology, especially when it was constructed from spare parts fished out of an old Decepticon shipwreck. Still, Wheeljack played along, he could see no other option. As much as he wanted to go out there and take down the Taskforce and the Decepticons, he could not really do such a thing if he did not know where either of those foes were located. He hated the feeling of powerlessness that hung over him and the whole situation. He needed to be out there doing _something_, even if the Taskforce would be down on him within short order.

He adjusted one of the settings on the scanner array. The whole dish swivelled a few degrees. While Doubletake fiddled with the computers inside the shipwreck, Wheeljack took a moment to regard the desert valley they were located in. It was like so much of Earth he had already seen, as during his time here years before he had not really taken the opportunity to travel farther than Nevada. The brown desert could only be interesting for so long before it all started to look the same. Nonetheless, he found the silence here oddly calming. Not even birds called, with the only noise being the whistle of the wind around the rocks and through the valley. Up above, clouds had started to move in from the west.

Wheeljack had lived a chaotic life, he knew this much. Some of the early parts were hazy, missing even. It had been a long time before he had properly sat down and simply thought about things. On Cybertron, it had been nothing but work; engineering, demolitions, even outright construction. He had been a Wrecker for so long that becoming a builder was something he was having difficulty getting into.

_"I'll be a while in here, Wheeljack."_ Doubletake's voice broke into his comms abruptly, interrupting his train of thought. _"You might want to catch some rest. If I figure out where 'Con central is, I'll let you know."_

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Wheeljack replied with only vague interest before he switched off his comms. He flexed his left arm, feeling pain shoot through his shoulder. Skystreaker's patchwork wound repair was far from perfect, but certainly adequate. He had never thought that a human weapon would be capable of punching through his armour to any significant degree, but he supposed that things had changed. Nine years since his last visit here and he had no idea what new toys the humans might have built for themselves. Chances are they had salvaged everything they could from any dead Decepticons they might have stumbled across. With all that alien technology at their disposal, something would have had to come of it eventually.

_I don't feel so welcome here anymore,_ Wheeljack mused, with a wry smile. Yet, for all that had happened, he found himself satisfied. The thrill of the combat, even if he had been wounded, never got old. He had not felt it proper for nine Earth years, a short time for a Cybertronian but still too long for the Autobot Wrecker. Being shot at, even hunted, for all its drawbacks, it still excited him. He still got a very significant kick out of it. Ratchet might have described such a trait as "reckless", "symptoms of a damaged psyche", perhaps even "self-destructive". Then again, Wheeljack had never gotten along so well with doctors.

"First time I've seen you looking thoughtful." Skystreaker's voice came from somewhere close behind him. Wheeljack spun around, one hand going for his sheathed blade on instinct. Either he had been really distracted by his own thoughts, or Skystreaker was some kind of stealth expert on top of her flight capabilities and her basic first aid knowledge. She was standing a short distance behind Wheeljack, one optic-ridge raised curiously.

"Being introspective, are we?" She asked.

"And what's it to you?" Wheeljack narrowed his gaze. Skystreaker walked by him, stopping a few steps to his left. He turned to face her, watching as her optics went up to the afternoon sky. It was nearing sundown, with the sun itself a sharp yellow disc low to the horizon.

"I can see right through that whole 'lone warrior' thing you've got going," Skystreaker said. She turned her head, eyeing him carefully. "You act like a tough guy, but I bet deep down..."

"Deep down I'm what? A big softie?" Wheeljack rolled his optics. He had only recently met the female and she was already trying to decipher him. "You could say I'm more of a 'team player' than I used to be."

"And what makes you, Wheeljack?"

"What?" That was an odd question. "Is that a trick question?"

"I just want to know a bit more about you, that's all." Skystreaker gave him a fairly innocent look. She meant no harm with her questions, Wheeljack figured. She was only curious. Not that he would ever spill his problems onto anyone else. They were his and his alone; he was fairly confident that any doubts he had about anything were the sort he could cope with himself. He certainly did not need an ex-Decepticon asking him about his feelings.

"What do you want to know?" Wheeljack asked her. "You want to know if I was abused as a youngling? Or if I'm a war criminal? That sort of thing? All the juicy stuff someone like you would probably get a kick out of knowing?"

"Are you always this cynical?"

"When you've been through what I have, becoming a bit cynical is probably to be expected," he replied. He then asked, somewhat suddenly: "How old are you, Skystreaker?"

She smiled at him, as if the question amused her.

"That's a bit of a personal thing to ask a femme..."

"Not really," Wheeljack interrupted. "I'd tell you my age, if I knew it myself. I just want to know if you were in the war for long. You couldn't have been, really. You seem a bit too chirpy for that."

"I was in the war for a bit," Skystreaker said.

"On the Decepticon side." Wheeljack frowned as he said this, doing nothing to hide his distaste. Skystreaker took notice of his disparaging look and shook her head slowly. "What? You weren't a 'Con, then? So the emblems on your chest and wings are just for decoration?"

"I'd get rid of them if I could."

"I could scratch them off for you," Wheeljack suggested. His right hand went for the hilt of his sheathed sword. "It might hurt a little."

"No, thanks." Skystreaker rapidly shook her head. Wheeljack lowered his hand and curled one corner of his mouth slightly, close to forming a smile but falling short, instead ending up with a look of indifference instead. "Surgery from a Wrecker is not something I want. Ever."

"You're a real ball of fun to be around, 'Streaker," Wheeljack said. He was naturally being sarcastic, although there was some truth to what he said and he realised it. Without her help his wounds would probably have become a lot more serious. She had helped him, even if it had been for her own selfish reasons, self-preservation in particular. That, and as annoying as she might have been, he did find himself enjoying talking with her. This thought surprised even him, not that he showed it. Nor did he show any sign that he might have been enjoying her company. She was a Decepticon, even if she had had her membership revoked. Being a 'deserter' implied she was a coward and she had done little to prove otherwise. The fact that she was currently unarmed might have been a reason why she had fled the battle at the compound earlier today, but Wheeljack got the feeling that it was simply a convenient excuse.

"How did a nice girl like you end up a 'Con?" Wheeljack tilted his head slightly, his curiosity significant. Skystreaker gave an unassuming shrug of her shoulders in reply.

"Probably down to circumstance," she said. "My father was an Autobot. At least, the one who claimed to be my father. I wasn't so sure on that."

"Let me guess: your mother was a 'Con?" Wheeljack had heard of similar occurrences during the war. Not everybody had been completely out to kill each other.

"I have no idea," Skystreaker said. "I'd tell you if I knew it myself." She smiled at him, satisfied at using his own earlier remark against him.

"You're a real smart-aft, you know?"

"Thanks. So are you."

Wheeljack let out a short sigh. Ever since he had met her she had been admittedly good at one thing: getting on his nerves. It both annoyed him and amused him, all at the same time.

"What about you?" Skystreaker asked.

"Me? My parents?" Wheeljack did not need to think much to get an answer to this. "I don't know. There's still a lot I don't remember from before the war. They found me wandering around the ruins of Crystal City and I had serious amnesia. Someone did a number on me, and this was very early in the war. I had apparently been an engineer before then, since that sort of thing came naturally to me."

"How did an engineer end up a Wrecker?"

Wheeljack shrugged. That was a good question, one he usually had difficulty answering on the odd chance someone actually asked him it.

"I sort of just fell into it," he said, after a pause. "They needed volunteers, I volunteered. They neglected to tell me how dangerous the work could get, but by the time I realised that I was enjoying it too much to care."

"So, what? You get off on the killing?"

"I do what I have to do," Wheeljack said, his tone shifting to a more serious one. "Don't you? Or have you never needed to kill anyone before?" He asked this last question with a great deal of doubt. The war had drawn in just about everyone on Cybertron to some extent. Redirecting the question back on Skystreaker at least spared him from having to admit the satisfaction he gleamed from killing Decepticons. Maybe he was concerned with how Skystreaker would see him, though he knew he should not have been. Why did he care? She was a Decepticon, even if she was a 'deserter'. And he did not like her much, despite her outright physical attractiveness. In essence, he was conflicted and he hated that. It was either one way or the other, being split down the middle about anything only annoyed him.

"I do what I have to, in order to survive," Skystreaker answered. "That's what the war ended up being about. Survival. The cause was secondary."

Wheeljack nodded. Skystreaker was right about that, at least in his view. When it came down to it, when he was facing the enemy on the battlefield, it was never the Autobot cause that rattled around in his head, driving his actions. It was his survival instinct that kicked in, compounded by his combat training. He fought until every threat was neutralized. If it helped the Autobot "cause", that was all well and good.

"What about now? What are we fighting for?" He was not sure of the answer to this himself, aside from the obvious. And even that could not have been the only thing to it.

"Survival. They're hunting us. This 'Taskforce'. They'll probably melt us down for spare parts if they get hold of us again." Skystreaker paused briefly, giving the matter some further thought. "I heard that these humans were meant to be friendly."

"Oh, they are. Mostly."

"They could have provided a friendlier welcoming committee."

"Yeah? Because I got the red carpet and everything." Wheeljack grinned, even with Skystreaker's sceptical look directed at him. "You know what I came here for?"

"What?"

"Negotiation. With Cyclonus."

Skystreaker crossed her arms. Her scepticism morphed into blatant disbelief.

"Really?"

"Yeah. They sent a Wrecker on a peace mission. Magnus' idea, not mine. But I went along with it. Thought the change of pace might do me some good." _So much for that idea,_ he thought. The change of pace had so far resulted in him being shot at and stuck on Earth. "Being on Cybertron, it's nothing but work. Build this, fix that. I'm a _soldier_, not a builder. I was a soldier for too damn long to change now."

"You were stupid for believing someone like Cyclonus would want any sort of 'negotiation'." Skystreaker sounded almost amused, likely because the Autobots had displayed significant stupidity regarding the matter in her view.

"That's what I said," Wheeljack added. "But Magnus was hoping it was genuine. And you know, maybe deep down I was hoping for the opposite. Hoping that I'd get to smash up some 'Cons, just like old times."

Skystreaker noticeably scoffed.

"So, you really do get off on the killing?" She asked him.

Wheeljack shrugged. What was he to say to that? The answer was probably obvious by this point.

"I like the excitement. There's something that feels _good _about having someone else's life in your hands." He looked down at his hands at this statement, flexing his fingers as he did so. Many times they had been covered with the bright blue energon of those he had slain. He had never given those he had killed much thought. And why should he? He knew who the enemy was, they had wronged him so many times in the past. Friends killed at their hands, entire cities levelled, innocents slain right before his eyes.

"I know the feeling," Skystreaker said. She watched him, their optics meeting. Something had changed in her demeanour. She seemed anxious all of a sudden. A silence fell between the two of them then, one that lasted for an uncomfortable twenty seconds or so. Wheeljack turned around, taking a look down the valley. He half-expected Taskforce helicopters to appear on the horizon, but the skies were clear. It was nearing evening, the end of another long day. _Or the start of another long night._

Skystreaker stepped up behind him. He felt her place a hand to his shoulder. The touch surprised him. He did not show it.

"It must be great, being a Wrecker," she said. "You must get a lot of respect."

"You'd be surprised," Wheeljack replied. "It's nothing but work now. I hardly get any free time. Respect or not, life's been pretty boring."

"Peacetime not your thing?"

"Peacetime's the last thing I wanted," Wheeljack said. "Maybe that says something about me. Maybe I'm messed up in the head. Maybe my processors are all jumbled, who knows? Who cares?" He turned his head to her and shrugged. "I sure as hell don't."

"We got some free-time now," Skystreaker said. The sly edge to her voice caught Wheeljack's attention. Just what did she want from him?

"Yeah, so?"

She swivelled him around rather forcefully with her hand on his shoulder. Wheeljack would have shoved her away, had she not wrapped her arms around him. It was nowhere near a threatening manner, rather there was something seductive in her optics, something that the Autobot Wrecker found himself intrigued by.

"I could go with this," Wheeljack commented. Decepticon or not, she was on his side and the one instigating this whole encounter. "Didn't take you for the frisky kind."

"You'd be surprised." Her fingers worked their way along the plating at his chest. "I think I could get to like you, Wheeljack. More than you know."

"Huh." Wheeljack would have said more, were it not for the way she planted her mouth against his. His mind had all but gone blank, his attention very much set upon the attractive female close to him.

"No need to go easy on me, Jackie," Skystreaker said, breaking their 'kiss'. Wheeljack had no intention of going easy. That was something most Wreckers, him in particular, were averse to. Part of him thought that maybe this was a bad idea, that perhaps this decision would come back to bite him later. The consequences might even be tangible, given the way Skystreaker was trying to force open his spark chamber. She must have wanted him badly. Luckily for her, he was more than willing to play along with her wants, and her needs.


	25. What The Doctor Ordered

**What the Doctor Ordered**

Star Saber stood alone on the observation deck. Cyclonus' cruiser was high above the clouds, sheathed in a cloaking field that hid it from all human sensors and most conventional Cybertronian ones. It was standard practice while being in Earth's atmosphere.

Cyclonus stepped through the door, seeing Star Saber with his back turned, his gaze set towards what lay through the thick window ahead. The room itself was fairly large, dome-shaped and nestled upon the top of the ship's rear. A weak-point, Cyclonus figured, one he had been yet to rectify. Compared to his personal transport, his far larger cruiser was still very much factory issue. The shipyards at Omicron Delta IX had put this one together, shortly before they had been destroyed in an Autobot raid. It was a large ship, capable of sustaining two hundred Decepticons with room to spare. Granted, there were perhaps seventy on board, including himself. Star Saber made for one of three Autobots currently residing here, with the other two inhabiting a pair of prison cells down in the lower decks. Star Saber, on the other hand, was practically a Commander here. _Second-in-command_, Cyclonus reminded himself. As much as Star Saber wanted to think he was in complete control, there was still a chain of command. A _Decepticon_ chain of command, one that no religious zealot and Autobot would ever be able to disrupt to any significant extent.

"Star Saber," Cyclonus said.

"What is it, General?" Star Saber did not turn around. Apparently the white clouds outside, and the blue sky around them, was a far more interesting sight.

"As you are second-in-command here, I feel it best to notify you that the human known as 'Colonel Carver' refuses to hand over the Seal, even after the assistance we provided his cause."

Star Saber was silent for a moment. Cyclonus sometimes felt ill-at-ease around this Autobot, a feeling he knew he should not have, yet it was one he could not shake. He was a General, a warrior who had been fighting in wars of some sort for most of his existence. He had faced down entire armies without so much as a tingle of doubt or fear, yet this Autobot unnerved him. Sometimes he wondered why he had ever agreed to help him, to form this 'alliance'. The opportunity to kill him had long passed, as his death would only lead to rebellion and chaos amongst the troops. Too many of them liked him, too many of them followed his teachings. So, for now it appeared that Cyclonus would have to tolerate Star Saber's presence.

"This is because his cause is not yet through," Star Saber said. Cyclonus stepped towards him, stopping to his right. "Were it not for the item he held over us, we would have simply killed him right away. And, even now, once we ascertain the item's location, we will take it from him, regardless of his wishes."

"A foregone conclusion, Star Saber," Cyclonus said. "I already have others working to locate the Seal. However, you have only provided the sparsest of details regarding its powers..."

"I have told you what you need to know, General," Star Saber interrupted. He turned his head, his blue optics narrowing as he eyed Cyclonus carefully. "Surely, you yourself would not reveal all if it was not necessary?"

"No, I would not." Trust was one thing that was lacking between them. Even so, Cyclonus wanted to know and he had been attempting to find out through other means. Not that he had had much luck so far. Star Saber was a means to an end, a way to get the powerful relic and retake Cybertron, maybe even conquer Earth while he was at it. Star Saber, on the other hand, saw him in a similar light, this Cyclonus had no doubt of: however, Star Saber's actual plans when he finally acquired the Seal of Nova Prime were known only to the Autobot pontiff.

"Then you must understand my position," Star Saber said. "Normally, I would not lower myself to working with Decepticons, but times change, often for the worse."

"You have said as much, repeatedly, during your sermons." Cyclonus had a thick finish; a few thinly-veiled insults were nothing to him. Unlike Megatron, who's temper would often explode at the slightest provocation.

"Though your Decepticons are of a different breed to most, General," Star Saber added. "For one, they are very open to my teachings. They believe that our race can be greater than it is, that we deserve to return to our former glory before the war, and the degenerates who caused it, brought us down, should be punished."

Cyclonus let out a subdued sigh. _He's going to start sermonizing again, isn't he?_

"I have very few Vehicons," Cyclonus said. Maybe he could prevent the incoming lecture by altering the subject of conversation? "That may be why. My soldiers are full-blooded Decepticons, through-and-through. There is no room for useless drones in my forces."

Star Saber nodded in acknowledgement of this. He seemed pleased, although his face was impossible to read underneath the plate he wore over its lower half.

"It was the lack of faith and moral degradation it caused that brought our civilisation to ruin," Star Saber continued. "Even from my research on Earth, I can see that it has happened numerous times throughout their history. And I believe that this Colonel Carver feels that it is happening again, hence why he intends to found his new world order."

"And do you want a 'new world order' for Cybertron, Star Saber?" Cyclonus had a feeling that he already knew the answer.

"I want an order based upon the foundation of faith, the same faith that carried our race through the Golden Age," Star Saber replied. "Is that not what you want, General? A new Golden Age for Cybertron?"

"I want the Autobots under my yoke," Cyclonus replied. "Save for you, of course. There is room for faith on my Cybertron."

"But there can be no room for non-believers," Star Saber countered. His tone carried a hint of something sinister, either that or he was simply unhinged. Cyclonus figured it was both, as the Autobot had always struck him as a bit 'odd'. As if not everything was there mentally. Or maybe everything _was_ there, just in a way completely different to most of the other Autobots Cyclonus had encountered? "No room for atheists, agnostics, heretics. They would all have to be purged."

"That might include myself," Cyclonus said. Star Saber would have no qualms about killing him. He was expecting the Autobot to try it once they had the Seal in their possession. It was why Cyclonus fully intended to kill Star Saber first, once he had the Seal in _his_ possession. "I do not go to your sermons, Star Saber. And I do not follow your beliefs. Faith has its place in society, but it should not be forced upon those who do not want it."

"Our species had its chance to prove that," Star Saber said. "They squandered it. Our world was ruined as a result. Sometimes, the masses need to be told how to live. They need to be made to live in the ways those above them see fit, for the good of the whole." Star Saber tilted his head slightly, as if bemused by Cyclonus' somewhat more moderate stance on the matter. "Why allow the cycle to continue? Tradition must be maintained, if our civilisation is to last."

"Nothing lasts forever," Cyclonus replied. "Our thoughts, our dreams, are ours, but their ends are none of our own. Even less so when put into practice."

"I intend to shape my own destiny," Star Saber stated. "You would do well to do the same. Only a fool leaves things to chance."

"No fool would lead a battalion of Decepticons." Cyclonus frowned. Sometimes Star Saber's thinly-veiled insults did get tiresome. "And no General would ever become so confident as to believe he has prepared for absolutely everything. You do not honestly believe you have accounted for every possibility, in whatever grand scheme you have set in your mind? Such a thing is impossible."

Was that a hint of uncertainty on Star Saber's features? It was hard to tell. Of all the Cybertronians Cyclonus knew, Star Saber was the best at hiding what he felt. His face was very much an expressionless mask most of the time, with only his optics giving any indication of any emotions he might have been experiencing.

"Whatever problem is keeping the humans from handing us the Seal, I want it dealt with," Star Saber said. "And I hope I can rely on you to do so." The doubt had disappeared from his face, replaced by his usual stoic appearance. Cyclonus nodded, keeping a straight face even with the amusing idea that had been formulating in his mind. He would have to tread carefully, even more so than he already had been. There were a few questions nagging at him, though. He supposed now was as good a time as any to ask them.

"I am curious, Star Saber," Cyclonus said. "You often teach from the Book of Nova Prime. That was not part of the official church canon, was it not?"

Star Saber raised one eyebrow ridge ever so slightly.

"I have adopted the teachings from that text and merged it with standard church practice," the Autobot replied. "Why?"

"Was it not once considered heretical?"

"Only by the liberal scholars who took charge a short time prior to the war, most of whom disagreed with some of the messages contained within the text," Star Saber explained. "I have simply readopted it."

"The church declared it non-canon," Cyclonus said. "Apocrypha."

"And they were wrong to do so," Star Saber stated. "Why, General? Why do you ask these questions?"

"Curiosity, nothing more." Cyclonus nodded slowly. His suspicions concerning Star Saber's teachings had been affirmed. Star Saber was probably the worst kind of fundamentalist he could have ever allied himself with. All the more worrisome was how his words were drawing in more and more of the soldiers. Something would give eventually and either he, or Star Saber, would wind up dead. All the more reason for the Decepticon General to get the Seal of Nova Prime before he did. Even if he did not know exactly what the relic did, simply having it in his possession would give him an edge over Star Saber. As helpful as the Autobot had been, he was becoming too influential, too much of a potential threat lay with him.

"I will return to my work," Cyclonus said. "Always a pleasure talking with you, Star Saber. No matter the subject." He smiled at him, bearing his jagged metal teeth. Star Saber returned his gaze to the clouds beyond the window ahead. Cyclonus turned around and walked out of the room then, passing by Vortex who was walking in the opposite direction. The broad-shouldered Combaticon saluted him as he went by. Cyclonus simply nodded in acknowledgement, yet deep down knew he could not entirely trust him anymore. Vortex had fallen very much under Star Saber's spell, as had many of the soldiers on board. He would have to get hold of the Seal himself somehow, if he was to be sure of it not getting to Star Saber. There were soldiers who had not fallen under the Autobot preacher's sway, he was sure of this, he would only have to find them.

* * *

His entire form was wracked with varying levels of pain. The veins that carried energon through his body burned ferociously. Even after all these hours, most spent fading in and out of consciousness, Bumblebee was still under the influence of unstable synthetic energon. By now, the high he had felt had instead been replaced with weariness. Withdrawal was kicking in and he was not unconscious anymore, so he could not avoid it.

Anger, frustration, despair; so many emotions ran through him. He had been locked into a rather dingy cell in some lower section of the ship, separated from Knock Out. And thinking of the former Decepticon doctor only angered him some more. He had not wanted to hurt him, yet when he had been placed in that 'arena' with only Knock Out within reach he had not been able to control the rage that had been rushing through him. He had wanted to lash out at whoever was in reach and Knock Out had been unfortunate enough to be the one closest to him. He figured it was understandable that Knock Out had torn his right forearm away, not that Bumblebee had wanted to keep the rudimentary bladed replacement. He would have to make do with his stump, one that had so far had whatever energon leaks it had sealed up with a basic patchwork of welded metal plating. The Decepticon doctor who had shot him full of synthetic energon had been kind enough to stop the leaks, an act that was a very clear indication that he had further plans for the Autobot. Bumblebee, however, had no desire to stay here any longer than he had to. And he was well beyond the point of "having to stay". Escaping from cells was not something he was new to, although in past situations he had had a clear mind. With the after-effects of synthetic energon to deal with, he was finding it difficult to think straight. Instead, he felt as if the walls were gradually closing in on him. He sat against the back wall, trying to keep his gaze away from the seemingly constricting surroundings, looking at the floor and the imperfect metal surface, marred with scrapes and scratches.

The longer he looked towards them, the more they seemed to shift. Some of them bent slowly yet visibly right before his eyes. Others seemed to increase in width and length. Bumblebee realised that he was seeing things, not that it made the experience any less unsettling.

Bumblebee stood up and made his way over to the sealed metal door. He thumped his one fist against it, shouting out to whoever may have been in the corridor beyond.

"I need to get out of here!" Somehow he doubted that the Decepticons would oblige his request. "I'm going crazy in here!"

"Shut up!" A gruff voice shouted from the corridor outside. Bumblebee fell silent, if only for a moment.

"I need more of the synth-en," Bumblebee said, leaning close to the door. "You tell the doctor that I need more." He noticed then that his left hand was shaking. He planted it firmly against the door in an effort to stop it, though the action only resulted in the rest of his left arm shaking instead. He knew he looked like a mess, but he also felt like one too. If he saw that Decepticon doctor again, he would kill him.

"Bumblebee?" A familiar voice filtered through a grating on the wall to his left. Bumblebee stepped over, unable to quite see who was standing on the other side. Nonetheless, he leaned forwards, straining his optics to get a better look at who was there. A flash of red optics told him who it was and he would have smiled, were he not in such a sorry state.

"Knock Out?" Bumblebee felt a wave of regret as soon as he said this. He hung his head low and shook it slowly, not that Knock Out would have been able to see him. "I'm sorry about what happened earlier."

"You weren't yourself," Knock Out replied. His voice was somewhat muffled through the thick grating. Bumblebee could not work his fingers through the tiny gaps, nor could he find any give along the panel's edges. It was unsurprising, considering if ripping off a single grating could get one out of a cell like this, then it would not have made it a very good prison cell. "And I think I did my fair share of damage to you."

"How long have we been locked up?" Bumblebee certainly could not remember. Time was something he had lost track of completely, especially when under the influence of the synthetic-energon. There were no windows, no clocks, nothing here that gave him any sort of indication about what time of day it was. Were they even on Earth anymore? The Decepticons probably had plans for Earth. Cyclonus likely would not leave, unless his plan all along had been to take the two of them hostage.

"Too long," Knock Out replied. "Twelve hours, maybe. I can't be certain."

"When I was captured, they put me in the medical bay here." Bumblebee remembered his experiences in there quite vividly, even through the withdrawal from the synthetic energon. "An Autobot came in."

"An Autobot?" Knock Out sounded surprised, understandably.

"He called himself Star Saber. A religious sort, zealous and self-righteous." Bumblebee closed his optics for a moment then. They had inflicted a lot of pain upon him during his stay in the medical bay. He still bore the wounds at his chest where plating had been either cut away or ripped off. "He wanted to 'convince' me to turn to his cause. Something about returning Cybertron to its former glory."

"I take it he wasn't successful?"

"Why do you think they shot me full of synthetic energon?" Bumblebee opened his optics. The question hung in the air for a moment as he considered what else to add. "He probably didn't bother with you, because..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say. Knock Out seemed to grasp the implications.

"Because of what? That I'm a 'coward'? That I'm not an Autobot?" Knock Out sounded despondent. "I guess being a Decepticon doctor turncoat has its advantages."

"Cyclonus is working with Star Saber," Bumblebee said. "That much I know. I doubt they get along too well, it's probably more of a necessity than a willing alliance. But whatever's going on, we have to get out of here. We have to find Magnus and the others."

Knock Out huffed audibly from the other side of the grating. Bumblebee leaned his good arm against the wall, his legs suddenly feeling weak underneath him. It lasted only for a moment, yet even so he had to lean upon the wall for a while longer. His body was not in the best state and the longer he remained standing the weaker his legs began to feel.

"I don't know if you know this, Bumblebee, but we're not in much of a position to find Magnus, or any other allies for that matter." Knock Out's sarcasm was obvious and, Bumblebee thought, definitely not needed. "Unless you have a way out of these cells that I don't know about?"

"I'll think of something," he replied. Even he had his doubts about this, as he was having enough trouble retaining a clear head. He felt like throwing himself against the door, again and again, until it either opened or he was reduced to a quivering pile on the floor. Common sense won out in regards to this thought and he opted against such an action.

"Well, tell me when you've finally thought of 'something'," Knock Out replied. "I'm going to stay right over here, counting the holes in this grating."

The door to Bumblebee's cell slid open then, a metallic groaning noise sounding out as it moved, its moorings likely rusted in places. Two Decepticons stood behind it, including the immediately recognizable 'Doctor' who had been the one to pump Bumblebee full of synthetic energon. He was accompanied by a broad-shouldered guard, tall and bulky, with a fusion shotgun clutched in his hands. The barrel was pointed straight at Bumblebee. As for the doctor, he wielded a Cybertronian pain-stick. It was a simple long metal staff with two prongs at one end with white energy streaking between them.

"Who is it, Bumblebee?" Knock Out asked through the grating. "What do they want?"

Bumblebee looked at the guard and then the shotgun, weighing his options.

"Stay right there, scout," the Decepticon guard said.

"What is it now?" Bumblebee asked. His anger flared, partially because of the synthetic energon withdrawal. There was not a lot of room for him to move about in this cell, although that would work both ways.

"The General granted my request for a lab specimen," the doctor replied. He gave an unnerving smile. "He doesn't need you, or your traitorous friend." He motioned to the guard to step forward and grab him. Bumblebee held his arms up, or at least his one arm and his one stump. This Decepticon guard was tall, almost as tall as the cell's ceiling. He certainly made for an imposing enemy.

The doctor lunged forwards then, planting the pain-stick against the centre of Bumblebee's chest. Energy shot across the Autobot's form and he let out an involuntary yelp, his limbs contracting against him as he fell to his knees. The Decepticon guard put the shotgun aside, using its magnetic clip to stick it against his back. With both arms out, he grabbed Bumblebee by either side before punching him square across the right half of his face.

Bumblebee's head snapped back and yet more pain shot down his neck. The ceiling above him seemed to wobble as the blow landed him in a brief daze. The guard grabbed him by one leg and started to drag him out of the cell, his frame noisily scraping against the metal floor. The agony that had been caused by the pain-stick quickly receded and he found he was once again able to control his movements. Behind him, the Decepticon doctor followed, the pain-stick hovering uncomfortably close to the Autobot's head. They passed by another locked cell in the dank metal corridor. A clanging noise emanated from the other side as Knock Out slammed both hands against it.

"Where are you taking him?" He shouted. There was another Decepticon guard standing near the door and he thumped on it in return.

"Shut up!" He barked.

Bumblebee's gaze went back to the doctor walking behind him, the pain-stick hanging ever-so-close to his head. The corridor was fairly empty other than the guard by Knock Out's cell door, so even now, through the pain and the unstable emotions that buzzed around in his head from the withdrawal, Bumblebee was trying to think of some sort of plan of action. There was an opportunity here, he just knew it.

His one good arm went for the doctor's right leg, clutching it suddenly. He pulled, taking the doctor's legs out from underneath him. Letting him fall, the pain-stick fell from his grasp and landed nearby. Still clutched by the Decepticon guard, Bumblebee reached for the pain-stick and grabbed it. Before the guard could turn around to respond to his movements, Bumblebee had plunged the business end of the stick into the Decepticon guard's lower back. He let out a shout and fell forwards, his grip on Bumblebee's leg loosening. The Autobot warrior was quick to jump back onto his feet, his spark pounding within his chest. He laid optics upon the Decepticon doctor, who was only just starting to rise back up.

Bumblebee pounced on him, placing the end of the pain-stick against his neck. He held it there, even as the doctor began to spasm uncontrollably beneath him. Finally, he pulled the stick away, his optics wide as the remnants of the synthetic energon burned through him. This 'doctor' had been the one to torture him and fill him full of the synth-en. For all that time Bumblebee had been at his mercy, the Autobot felt the desire to return the favour in kind. However, for all the ferocity the synthetic energon gave him, it did give him more time to act. The guard ahead was rising back onto his feet and the one further back down the hall had turned to look towards the commotion, one arm shifting into a plasma blaster. Bumblebee instead decided on his next course of action as he took up the pain-stick in his one hand. He forced it into the doctor's open mouth, plunging it past his metal teeth and through the back of his head, pinning him to the floor. He began to scream as the energy ate away at the inside of his helm, blue bolts of it shooting across his mouth and up through his optics.

A moment later, both of his optics exploded, blue flames erupting from within the sockets. His screams stopped and Bumblebee, his arm shaking, stood up and turned his attention to the stunned guard. He saw the other one back down the hall was racing towards him, arm cannon raised. Bumblebee grabbed the burly guard near him and hoisted him back onto his feet, his one arm clenched tightly around his neck. Holding him in front, the other guard started shooting, striking his friend in the chest with a few red bolts of energy. Bumblebee yanked the fusion shotgun off of the wounded Decepticon's back and placed it across one of the guard's shoulders, pulling the trigger. Several searing armour-piercing projectiles exploded out of the shotgun's barrel, travelling the length of the corridor in a split-second. They struck the front of the approaching Decepticon guard, punching several small holes through his chest armour. He stumbled, energon fluid dribbling down his front, leaving numerous glowing blue streaks across his black and purple finish. Bumblebee fired again, this time sending several flechettes into the guard's face. Most of it was torn away by the force of the impact, leaving half a face and several wires dangling out of the smouldering mess. The guard fell to the side, clanked loudly upon a wall and then slumped down upon it, ending up on the floor as a motionless heap.

The guard Bumblebee had been clutching in front of him, his stump of an arm firmly pressed against his chest, was still alive. Bumblebee kicked him away with one leg, letting him stumble forwards. He turned around, clutching at his wounds with his hands, swaying unevenly on his feet.

"Where's the ground-bridge on this ship?" Bumblebee demanded. He pointed the shotgun straight at him.

"I ain't telling you a damn thing," the Decepticon replied. Bumblebee did not hesitate to fire, his aim just slightly off centre, an intentional act on his part. The Decepticon's left arm was sheared clear off of his shoulder by the armour piercing flechettes. He screamed, falling to his knees as his one remaining hand went to the jagged stump. Blue energon fluid spurted out like a geyser.

"Wrong answer," Bumblebee said. He clenched his jaw, his green tinged optics wide as he planted the barrel against the Decepticon's forehead. "I've been having a very bad day, so _don't test me._" It was more the withdrawal frenzy that was talking now, though his reasoning skills kicked in just enough to stop him from simply pulling the trigger there and then.

"Deck sixteen," the Decepticon guard replied, hanging his head low. "There's an elevator, just follow the corridor behind you."

He looked up again, eyeing the shotgun Bumblebee had levelled in his face. The Autobot seriously considered executing him there and then. Had he still been on the high he had been earlier, he would have done it already. Yet even through the anger the withdrawal was giving him, he still managed to allay his finger from the trigger. Instead, he spun the weapon around and swung the stock-end of it like a club. It connected with the guard's head, the force of the blow emitting a loud _clank _as it sent him falling to the floor. It would likely be some time before he got back up.

Bumblebee rushed back down the corridor and stopped before the door into Knock Out's cell. The holographic terminal by it needed some sort of numerical code. The Autobot warrior had no idea what that code may have been. Instead, he simply stepped back and blasted it with the shotgun, the panel exploding in a shower of sparks and burst of flame. The door slid open and Knock Out, weary and wounded, appeared in the doorway. His red optics lit up noticeably when he saw Bumblebee.

"I knew you'd get out," he said, smiling. "Never doubted you for a moment."

"Come on," Bumblebee replied. He would have grabbed Knock Out with his free hand, were it not for the fact that he was lacking one. The shotgun was clasped in his left, his right stump having proved to be fairly useless. Knock Out shuffled past him, relieved to be free of his cell.

"Where are we going?" Knock Out asked, turning around to face the Autobot. "There's still the little matter of being stuck on this ship..."

"Ground-bridge control station," Bumblebee interjected. "Find a weapon, Knock Out. I've only got one arm."

"Oh, I'd rather just stay behind you, Bumblebee."

The Autobot scowled at him. He was not in the mood for Knock Out's usual attitude towards fights.

"Pick up a gun, or _something_ you can hit the bad guys with. Because we're going to have to work together to get off of this nightmare ship." He walked over to the dead Decepticon guard and knelt by him. There was a side-arm clipped to his back, a fairly standard Decepticon model. Bumblebee put aside his shotgun for a moment and used his one hand to pick up the Decepticon pistol before throwing it to Knock Out. The doctor caught it, but not before fumbling it between his hands.

"We're going to die on this ship, aren't we?" Uncertainty laced his voice. Bumblebee stood back up and shook his head.

"We're not going to die," Bumblebee replied. He understood that Knock Out had probably gone through more trauma in a short time than he had in the past nine years, so his anxiety was to be expected. Bumblebee spoke to him sternly, aware that it would be best if he stamped out the problem now, before Knock Out's state of mind fell apart completely. "You're going to pull yourself together, all right?" He reached out with his left hand and placed it upon one of the Decepticon doctor's shoulders. It was unlikely to make him feel any better, but Bumblebee did it anyway. It seemed like the fitting thing to do.

"I'm perfectly fine," Knock Out replied, smarmy as ever, even if his voice and the look in his optics belied the fear he felt within him. Bumblebee noticed it right away. "I just get the impression our odds of survival on this ship are horrendously slim."

Bumblebee took his hand away from Knock Out and picked up the shotgun again.

"Just shut up and follow my lead," he said. With that, he turned around and started down the corridor, with Knock Out trailing along a few paces behind him, his optics darting about anxiously.


	26. Decision

**Decision**

Evening had started to fall upon the state of Nevada. The sky above was packed with stars, far more than one could expect to see over a major population centre. Along one of the many desert highways that wound their way across the barren plains was Deadeye, working his way between the hills and through the valleys. He roared along in his vehicle mode, his mind racing with thoughts, many of which conflicted. He no longer knew where his allegiances lay, but he was sure they were not with the Taskforce. Colonel Carver and Captain Van Cleef were two humans he had never liked much to begin with, but they had given him a good deal in exchange for his help and he had gone along with it because why not? It was an easy life, the work was fun and he could essentially do whatever he wanted as long as it did not start trouble with human civilians.

He kept driving. He had driven in circles a few times already, following the roads across the desert and through a few small towns. No one gave him a second glance. A luxury silver and blue four-door shooting through Backwoods, Nevada might turn a few heads amongst the locals but little else.

The Taskforce wanted him to essentially hunt down the other Autobots. He might have gone along with it to begin with, helping to bring in Wheeljack, but Colonel Carver was yet to properly explain why such extreme measures were needed. The fact that they had killed Agent Fowler and burned down Rafael's house only struck him as far more extreme than he believed was necessary. He had had little to do with either human, but he had been told about them. He had perused the reports the Taskforce had passed onto him regarding them, as well as the other humans that had become involved with Unit-E and the Autobots. And now it appeared that each and every one of them, human or Autobot, had been marked as a "threat" by the Taskforce. Bumblebee may have killed this nation's leader, yet even Deadeye found that one hard to believe. Of course, it did not matter to Carver what he believed. It was enough for the human media to start sowing the seeds of fear and panic, that an alien force on Earth had struck such a decisive blow. Deadeye realised then that he had been a willing accomplice to what was essentially a coup in progress. Carver had his own agenda and there was little doubt in Deadeye's mind that it involved putting himself in charge. And by 'in charge', Deadeye meant 'in charge of _everything_'. Maybe he should have seen it from the beginning, there might have been signs of the man's lust for power as far back as their first meeting.

Deadeye kept the accelerator floored as he went tearing through the desert. The road ahead gave him a hairpin turn, one he traversed fluidly, skidding sharply upon the bend as he drifted along it. He kicked up a plume of smoke and dust in his wake. Yet, for all the expertise he displayed, his mind was very much in another place.

_What the hell am I going to do?_ He had made it a point to avoid any significant Autobot contact. He had no desire to get dragged off to Cybertron, he did not want to help in any reconstruction effort. He was a soldier, he had been one for as long as he could remember. He would never lay down his guns, not for as long as Decepticons were around. And there were still plenty around. Some apparently worked for the Taskforce, if the events of earlier were anything to go by. How long had that arrangement been in place? Or was it simply coincidence?

_Coincidence? Bullshit._ He did not believe in coincidences. Everything happened for a reason, there were no exceptions to that. He pushed his engines a bit harder then, sending him swinging wide around a sharp bend and straight into the path of an oncoming truck.

His reaction time was far greater than the human driver in the truck ahead. He swerved to the left, brushing by the truck at a hair's distance. The driver sounded his horn as he brought his truck skidding to a halt, all the while Deadeye put a few hundred metres distance between them. A close call? Maybe, but he was not in the mood to care. The road ahead of him straightened out, going all the way into the mostly flat horizon. An old railway line was visible far off to the right and a freight train trundled along it steadily, bearing numerous carriages of varying designs, though most were covered in graffiti of some sort.

If he wanted nothing to do with the Taskforce, yet nothing to do with the Autobots, then what on Earth was he going to do? He had no way to get off of this planet. His ship was nothing but a wreck, stored in a warehouse somewhere, having since been picked apart not only by himself but by human researchers. And what annoyed him even more, leaving him further conflicted, was the fact that he actually liked this planet. He liked the humans, he liked their entertainment, he liked the environment. In an effort to ease his growing sense of frustration, he tuned his radio to one of the more musically-oriented stations that broadcast in the region. Immediately his head was filled with hard rock, a particular genre of human music he had grown an affinity for.

Even if he could leave Earth, he realised that he would not be able to simply turn his back on what was happening, regardless of who was in the "right". And that was just it: there was no "right" and "wrong". He had learned this the hard way on Cybertron. For all the talk the Autobot leaders would give about "freedom", they would often become as brutal as the Decepticons when out on the battlefield. He was no different; he even revelled in the killing. That was what had made helping the Taskforce so appealing in the first place.

Helping them hunt down and kill rogue Decepticons had given him the outlet he had needed. Not once had he questioned his actions, not once had he given any thought as to why the Taskforce was doing this, instead of Unit-E. He had assumed, and even been told by the Colonel, that Unit-E was the diplomatic side of interaction with Cybertronians, forming a direct line of communication with Cybertron. The Taskforce, on the other hand, was the organization that did the dirty work. They were the first and last line of defence against alien aggressors. That was what Colonel Carver had told him. Deadeye had believed it without question. And why would he not have? The Taskforce had given him the opportunity to kill Decepticons. He had not cared for the context, nor had he cared about what the organization did with the remains of those Cybertronians it killed.

At the back of his mind, he had figured that they had been reverse-engineering the technology. Building weapons designed specifically to kill Cybertronians. To kill beings like him, and here he had been helping them do it. And when they had told him to find Wheeljack, to take him in alive, he had done it without so much as a second thought.

He hated feeling like this. Everything he had done, helping the Taskforce, had been for entirely selfish reasons. He had sometimes thought this, although he had written it off simply because he had figured he was entitled to being selfish. Fighting in the war, seeing friends die all around him, all at the hands of Decepticons and the occasional Insecticon; he thought that maybe he deserved some time doing what he wanted, getting some payback in his own way, even after the war had "ended".

He had fought Wheeljack, one of his own. He had almost helped the Taskforce hunt down Fowler, Darby and Rafael. Humans who, to him, had done nothing. And the Taskforce had been working with Decepticons. Or not, he could not be entirely certain. Not that it mattered. There were Decepticons out there who needed to be taken care of. There were also Autobots that needed help. Humans allies as well. The Taskforce was also a problem. They would likely come after him now. At least he knew what to expect from them.

He shut off the radio at that point and instead reactivated his comms, all the while he continued tearing down the desert road. He wondered if the Autobots would even want anything to do with him. Still, it was worth a shot.

"Ultra Magnus, Commander, sir, whatever you want to be called," he said, broadcasting on all known Autobot frequencies. It was a risky move, as the Decepticons could have very easily been listening in. And the Taskforce for that matter, as he had showed them how to listen in on Cybertronian communications. As long as he stayed on the move, they should not be able to triangulate his position very accurately. Just to make it even harder for them to estimate his position, he shifted off of the highway, planting his wheels onto the dirt and sand before he went shooting off into the desert.

"I know you can hear me. You wouldn't have your comms off. You'd need them on to organize your little band of fugitives." _Was I too blunt?_ Deadeye mused. He did not expect an immediate answer. In fact, he would be surprised if he received any kind of answer at all. "This is Deadeye. I'm willing to help you. You and your buddies." He repeated this message a few times over as he moved, until finally, after about ten minutes, Ultra Magnus' voice came filtering through his comms, stern as always.

_"Why should we trust you?"_

"Good question. And I don't expect you to trust me. But I'm willing to help. We could meet, even. Wherever you want."

There was a long pause. Ultra Magnus was likely deliberating the matter with the other Autobots, probably even the humans who were tagging along with them.

_"Come alone and unarmed. I will send the coordinates to you in a coded comms burst that will happen once only. Be there within the next two hours, otherwise the next time we meet, it will likely be as enemies."_

"Go ahead, Commander," Deadeye replied. He had no desire to meet Ultra Magnus unarmed, but he figured he could stash his guns someplace nearby and grab them if trouble occurred. He only had to get to the meeting area before the Autobot Commander did. Chances are Ultra Magnus would not come alone. Even if it appeared he was, there would likely be one of the other Autobots waiting nearby to jump in if trouble started.

The comms burst came through and Deadeye memorized the coordinates easily. The communications link shut off then from Ultra Magnus' end. Deadeye switched his comms off in response, as to ensure further security. Anyone could have been listening in, although the Autobot codes that Ultra Magnus disguised the coordinates with would take time for any Decepticons to break. Deadeye may have told the Taskforce how to listen in on Cybertronian communications, but he had not taught them about the Autobot codes. He had had no reason to, as the Decepticons had been the enemy at that point, no one else. It was funny how things could change so drastically and so suddenly.

* * *

"You can't be serious." Wildstrike crossed her arms, one optic ridge raised as she regarded Ultra Magnus. He stood a short distance ahead of her, in the shadow of an old wooden building. They stood by a cliff-face. A narrow dirt road wound its way across the plain, leading to a small cluster of rundown wooden buildings that had once formed a mining town. The town in question had been abandoned several decades earlier and most of the structures were in serious disrepair. Even so, the place made a fairly decent location to hide out in, given how out of the way it was.

"It's my decision," Ultra Magnus replied. He turned to face her. "I'll meet with Deadeye. I'll hear what he has to say. We can't ignore him, even if it is a setup."

"We sure as hell can, sir," Wildstrike countered. "You could be walking straight into the clutches of those humans who are chasing after us. Those Taskforce people, whoever they are. It looks like, to me anyway, that they'll go to any lengths to get us."

"That's why you're staying here," Ultra Magnus said. It sounded like an order, one Wildstrike was not especially keen on following. However, she would never disobey Ultra Magnus. She respected him far too much for that. Still, if his safety was at risk...

"Is that an order, sir?" She scowled at him. Hiding her frustration from him was the least of her concerns.

"I can make it one."

Ultra Magnus hefted up the heavy rifle, the very one Doubletake had brought here from Cybertron. The Autobot Commander checked the power pack before deactivating the weapon's safety. There was a brief high-pitched whine as it charged up.

"I should come with you..." Wildstrike began, but she was interrupted.

"Look after the humans," Ultra Magnus said. He nodded to one of the rundown houses nearby. Both Jack and Rafael were standing just outside, with an old metal barrel between them. In it, they had started a fire using whatever wood they could salvage from the old buildings, as well as the small amount of gasoline that had been stored in the nearby shed.

"And if you get ambushed?" Wildstrike had come to Earth to make sure Ultra Magnus had not been harmed. She wanted to protect him, even if she knew him well enough to know that the last thing he needed from her was outright protection. Still, she could not shake that desire to help him in any way she could. She did not want him getting killed, not under her watch.

"I'll contact you," Ultra Magnus said.

"Sir, how can you be so sure?" Wildstrike took a step towards him. "I didn't come to this planet just to let you go off on some foolhardy venture."

"This whole situation is a 'foolhardy venture'," Ultra Magnus said. "And because of these extreme circumstances, I need you in top form. I need you to follow my orders, no matter how much you might not like them."

"I've always done that, sir."

"And you'll continue doing it." The Autobot Commander stuck the rifle to his back via a magnetic clip. "Stay here. That's an order."

"I don't think I could live with myself if you got yourself killed, sir," Wildstrike said. She felt that she might have come off as a bit too blunt, but even if that was the case all Ultra Magnus did was slightly narrow his optics.

"You'll be fine," Ultra Magnus said. With that, he turned around and quickly transformed into his truck form. Wildstrike remained standing where she was, watching him as he hit the accelerator and sped off down the dirt road, a thick plume of dust erupting in his wake. He disappeared from view a moment later, after heading down an incline. Wildstrike considered following him at a distance, but an order was an order. The humans here needed her protection. Leaving them alone could prove fatal for them if the Taskforce came by.

She turned around, making her way over to where Jack and Rafael were standing. They were warming themselves by the barrel fire. Nights out here could get cold, a stark contrast to the stinking heat of the day. Rafael looked up at her, his face a mix of emotions. If Wildstrike were to apply one word to them, it would have to be 'grim'. Rafael was a young man, just past twenty years of age. In the last six hours he had had his house destroyed and an old friend die. Wildstrike did not know Rafael personally, she had simply read about 'Team Prime' from reports provided by the likes of Ultra Magnus and Bumblebee. Rafael had been the youngest human in the group, an intelligent boy of twelve when he had first met the Autobots. He was a man now, his features certainly matured compared to the images Wildstrike had seen of him. Taller and broader, save for his glasses that looked the same. And his outfit had not changed much either.

"You in the Elite Guard?" Jack was the one to ask the question. He looked up at her through tired eyes. The events of the last day for him had likely left him feeling weary.

"Yes," Wildstrike replied.

"Smokescreen was in the Elite Guard, wasn't he?" He glanced to Rafael. The other human just nodded slowly in response. Jack returned his attention to Wildstrike. "How is Smokescreen, anyway?"

"He was doing all right, last I checked," Wildstrike said. She had never actually interacted with humans before, so she was not entirely sure how to compose herself. Learning English from the 'worldwide web' had been simple enough. Actually having a casual conversation with a human was another matter entirely. "I, ah...haven't had much to do with him. Our assignments usually keep us apart." She neglected to mention that she found Smokescreen one of the more irritable Autobots she had ever worked with. Hiding what she really thought of others and keeping her opinions to herself was pretty much a necessity when one was in the Elite Guard. She had to serve as an example to others, after all. Having a thick finish was practically a job requirement.

"You think Deadeye will help?" This question caught her off-guard. Wildstrike just shrugged.

"I don't even know Deadeye," she said. "From what you've told me, it sounds like this Taskforce has him under their sway."

"You sounded pretty worried about Magnus." Jack, for all his weariness and frustration, managed to curl his mouth into a sort of half-smile. "You must really care for him."

"He's my superior," Wildstrike replied quickly. "Of course I care for him. I respect him a great deal."

Jack nodded slowly, although he did not look convinced. Wildstrike had at least told a partial truth, in her view.

Jack picked up a bottle of somewhat dirty water, part of what he had scavenged from the rundown buildings. There was a pump nearby, boring down into an underground spring. If Wildstrike had been human, she might have had second thoughts about drinking water from that pump. Jack and Rafael, on the other hand, did not have much of a choice. They were far from civilisation and neither of them were in any mood to travel. That, and the Taskforce would have a far easier time of finding them if they went into a town or city.

Jack downed about a third of the bottle's contents before handing it to Rafael.

"Are we really going to spend the night here?" Rafael asked. He regarded the slightly brown water contained in the bottle with obvious disgust.

"Where do you suggest we go?" Jack turned to him. "A motel? Do you want to wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of the Taskforce breaking open the door to your room?"

"They can't find us that easily, Jack."

"They could have access to any surveillance camera in the country. We can't take any chances. Not with every law enforcement agency out to get us."

Rafael shook his head. Wildstrike got the impression that an argument was about to start. She found herself at a loss on how to react, whether she should step in now and try to prevent it or simply let it run its course.

"Why can't we turn ourselves in?" Rafael asked. Jack's eyes widened when he heard this. Wildstrike thought that for a moment, as she watched his reaction, he might hit Rafael.

"Did you see what they did to Fowler?" Jack spat. "They don't want us alive. They want us out of the way. We're a threat to them."

"I could turn myself in," Rafael replied. He sounded defiant even if his voice was tinged with unease. He was clearly unsure of himself and Wildstrike got the impression that he may have simply been testing the waters with Jack, regarding the topic. "I haven't killed anyone."

"Do you think I enjoy doing that? We were being shot at, Raf. It was us or them. Fight or die. And I fought. Don't you dare hold that against me." Jack's tone took on a far nastier edge. He pointed a finger at Rafael, his face contorted with a weary anger. "Turning yourself in would be pointless. They'd probably kill you anyway, or lock you up for life. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in prison?"

"What do you suggest we do, then?" Rafael raised his voice, making his uncertain tone all the more apparent. "We're fugitives. And I sure didn't ask to get dragged into this."

"They were already on their way to you when we got to your house," Jack said. "They already got Miko. I don't even know if she's alive. And I sure as hell wasn't going to let them get you too."

There was a brief silence between the two of them then. Wildstrike felt a bit awkward standing nearby, simply watching the pair argue. What was human etiquette when two people near to you were getting at each other's throats?

"They killed Fowler. For that I'll go to any lengths to bring them down." Jack relaxed slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, his tone of voice easing off of the anger, becoming stern and serious instead. "We'll bring down the entire Taskforce, as well as the Decepticons while we're at it."

"How?"

"That's a very good question," Wildstrike interjected, getting the attention of both humans. "You can talk all you want, it's your actions that will make the most difference."

"What do you think, then?" Jack asked her, genuinely curious.

"About what?"

"About what we should do."

Wildstrike shrugged. She was still very new to the whole situation. Ultra Magnus and Jack had told her all they knew, but that was hardly the same as experiencing it for herself.

"Where's their headquarters?" She asked.

"We blew up most of it," Jack answered. He was likely referring to the compound and what had happened there, sometime prior to her arrival on Earth.

"If they're as powerful as you say, there's likely more than just the one place," Wildstrike said. "If I were you, I'd find out where their main base of operations was. Their central hub."

Jack nodded in agreement.

"I was thinking the same thing," he said. "But I worked with the Taskforce for six months. Not once did I hear any mention or see anything written down about a 'central hub' or 'secret lair' or whatever they call it. I assumed the compound was it. Colonel Carver always made it out to me that the Taskforce was underfunded."

"Underfunded enough to build advanced weapons and win the aid of Deadeye?" Wildstrike tilted her head slightly, looking towards the human questioningly. Jack shrugged.

"If we can get to a computer with a network connection I could try using my Taskforce credentials to get into their database," he said. "It's a stretch since they've probably locked me out, but maybe someone somewhere overlooked it. And if all else fails, Raf here could try and hack in. Maybe then we'll be able to find their headquarters."

Rafael frowned. His dislike of this "plan" was clear.

"Hacking into the network of a black ops organization is not something I've done before," he said. "It's not easy, it's not like breaking into a conspiracy website and replacing a few images. We're talking proxies, firewalls, trackers, signal bouncing, all that stuff. Hacking at that level isn't something I've done much of."

"We're going to have to try," Jack said. "If we can expose what the Taskforce is doing to the public, that'll be the end of them. They've already been manipulating the media. We could turn that against them if we got hold of the truth." He sounded like he was starting to get excited. Wildstrike found his eagerness commendable, if a little misplaced and premature for that matter.

"We'll need a computer, an actual high-grade one and not just some cheap laptop," Rafael said. He still did not sound convinced. "And, if we actually succeed in finding out where their main base of operations is, what do we do then?"

"We launch an attack," Wildstrike said. The two humans looked at her funny, as if they thought she was crazy. "That's what I'd do."

* * *

Jack felt tired. That was the most succinct word for his current condition. Tired and frustrated, wrought with indecision, left uncertain about his chances of survival by what had happened today. Despite all of this, he had been formulating a plan in his mind, one that was sounding less likely to succeed the more he spoke about it. His mood was not helped by the cold and the wind, as well as the fact that he was in the middle of nowhere with only a fire in a rusted barrel as a source of warmth. Spending the night in a rundown wooden building that would likely be condemned by any modern day building inspectors also put a significant crimp in his usually friendly demeanour. Wildstrike's suggestions were not helping much either.

_A frontal attack? Was she crazy?_ She came across like a more restrained female version of Smokescreen. Was everyone in the Elite Guard like that?  
"Or we could try being a bit more subtle," Jack suggested. "We just need a computer, first and foremost. I had one at my house..." Of course, going back to his house would be a terrible course of action that would likely lead to disaster, so he would have to scratch that idea from the list of potential ones. That, however, left very few courses of action available.

"I'm thinking something a bit more than that," Rafael interrupted. "Unit-E has offices scattered around the country. We could go to one of them."

"That's if the Taskforce hasn't stripped them all clean already." Jack was aware of the offices Unit-E had scattered around the country. They were really just small affairs, out of the way and hidden from public view. They were often used to gather information that would in turn be passed onto the headquarters. Essentially, these 'outposts' were a means to look out for Decepticons, not that they had seen much use in recent years. Jack had heard that some had even been closed down, so he really had no idea just how many of them were left open.

"The locations are top secret..." Rafael did not get a chance to finish before Jack interrupted him.

"And the Taskforce is above that," Jack said. He paused, looking to Wildstrike. She was certainly listening to their conversation, although looking at her now it seemed that she was unsure of what to say. She had likely never been to Earth before, let alone interacted with humans, so it was somewhat understandable that the Cybertronian female was unsure of how to act when in the presence of the planet's natives.

"I think there's one in Carson City," Rafael said.

"The Taskforce could be crawling all over it." It was a fair drive to Carson City. With the help of the Autobots it would likely not take quite as long. Still, he did not fancy another long drive across the desert. And if they got there, then what? The Taskforce would likely be right behind them. This whole "plan" was beginning to look a whole lot worse than it had a few minutes ago. Jack would have liked to maintain a positive attitude, but that was becoming increasingly hard to do after everything that had happened.

"What do you suggest then?" Rafael frowned, his voice taking on a frustrated edge. "We haven't got any other option."

"You were pretty keen to turn yourself in earlier."

"No, I wasn't. I was just considering it as a possibility, but you're right that we'll likely just get killed anyway. And since when have we ever given up?" Rafael took a step forwards, his frown softening. "We've taken on worse. MECH, Megatron, even Unicron."

"That's a matter of perspective," Jack said. "We didn't lose anyone before. Now Fowler's gone. If he were still here, we might still have a plan." Fowler had been in the military, he would have known what to do. He sure would not have wanted them to give up and certainly not to turn themselves in. "I'll be damned if I let Van Cleef and Carver get away with what they've done. What they _continue_ to do. They took our lives away, made us fugitives in our own country. We'll have to fight to get them back."

"We really going to take them on?" Rafael sounded doubtful. "If they're as far-reaching as you've suggested, then I don't see how we're going to be able to do it."

"Don't you see?" Jack was the one to take a step forwards now. He planted both hands on Rafael's shoulders. "They would want us to doubt ourselves. To argue. We can't allow that. We have to pick ourselves up and go on the offensive. Standing around and arguing about it isn't going to get us anywhere." He remembered what Fowler had said earlier that day, about pushing on ahead and never doubting yourself. Sure, it was easy to say, but putting it into practice was another matter entirely. "If you say there's a Unit-E office in Carson City, then that's where we'll go."

He turned to look over at Wildstrike. She had turned around, her gaze directed towards the dirt road. Jack would have liked to hear her input, but instead he found his attention going the same way as Wildstrike's, his gaze settling on the familiar blue truck that was speeding towards them. To its left travelled a very familiar four-door car. Wildstrike saw this vehicle and her right arm shifted into its cannon mode. She stood alert, ready to start shooting at a moment's notice.

Ultra Magnus came to a halt nearby before rapidly transforming into his biped form. Deadeye followed suit, only to turn around and find Wildstrike pointing her cannon right into his face. Jack walked forwards, unsure of what to make of Deadeye. He had liked the Autobot, maybe even considered him a friend, but his involvement with the Taskforce and willingness to help them when he had attacked Wheeljack had cast a shadow over Jack's perception of him. Apparently he was here to make amends, if Ultra Magnus' presence was anything to go by.

"Lower the weapon, Lieutenant," the Autobot Commander said. He put out an arm, gently touching Wildstrike on her raised forearm. She frowned at him, receiving a stern look in return. Reluctantly, she lowered her cannon, shifting her arm back to normal. All the while Deadeye watched her, a smirk visible on his face.

"You didn't tell me you had a female companion here, Magnus," Deadeye said. His optics shifted downwards as he took in her complete form. "And a very fetching one at that."

"You keep your eyes up when you talk to me," Wildstrike demanded. Deadeye did so, their optics meeting. Jack watched this with some vague amusement.

"All right," Deadeye replied. "Take it easy." He turned to face Ultra Magnus. "Can I have my guns back now?"

Ultra Magnus wore both of Deadeye's guns at his waist. He simply shook his head in response to the other Autobot's request and Deadeye crossed his arms, huffing audibly.

"Why'd you bring him back here, sir?" Wildstrike asked the Autobot Commander.

"He's willing to help," Ultra Magnus answered.

Jack looked up at Deadeye and the Autobot returned the gaze. A remorseful expression crossed his metallic features.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Deadeye said.

"For what?"

"For attacking Wheeljack. I didn't like carrying out that order. And they wanted me to go after you and Rafael, but that's when I called it quits."

"You called it quits?" Jack narrowed his eyes. He found this a bit hard to believe.

"I just left," Deadeye explained. "How else do you want me to put it? They wanted me to help them hunt you and your friends down. I wasn't having any of that anymore."

"It's going to take some doing to redeem yourself for all that. Especially for Wheeljack. I think he wants to kill you."

Deadeye chuckled. Apparently he found this funny.

"I can understand why," the Autobot said. "Where is Wheeljack, anyway?" He took a quick scan of his surroundings, finding no trace of the Wrecker.

"Not here," Ultra Magnus stated, matter-of-factly.

"Just how much help is he going to be, sir?" Wildstrike regarded Deadeye with noticeable disdain. Jack remained where he was while Rafael stepped forwards, stopping just to his right. He had never met Deadeye before, so naturally his curiosity had compelled him to take a closer look. Deadeye peered down at him, noticing the human's curious expression.

"You Rafael?" He asked simply.

"Yeah." Rafael took his glasses off then, using one sleeve to wipe the insides of the lenses clean of dirt.

"Jack mentioned you a few times." Deadeye glanced at the human in question. Jack retained a straight face. He and Deadeye might have had some good times in the past, but looking back on all those now simply left Jack feeling unsure of it all. Everything he had done with the Taskforce had taken on a more sinister and unnerving edge when he thought back on it. And to think he had almost completely abandoned Unit-E for them? It was likely Colonel Carver had been gradually trying to manipulate him for his own ends, maybe even turn Jack to whatever extreme cause he believed himself to be fighting for.

"He said you're pretty smart," Deadeye said.

"He did?" Rafael turned to Jack, an eyebrow raised. A cold breeze billowed across the plain then, kicking up the sand near their feet.

"Maybe I did." Jack rubbed one eye, doing what he could to keep it free of sand.

Wildstrike grabbed Deadeye by the back of the neck at that point, causing him to elicit a startled grunt.

"That's enough small-talk," Wildstrike barked. "What are we going to do with this sorry excuse for an Autobot, sir?" She directed the question to Ultra Magnus, who had been listening to the conversation with his usually stoic demeanour. "What information does he have that could help us?" She turned Deadeye around, letting go of his neck. He rubbed the back of it with one hand, eyeing Wildstrike with annoyance.

"I can't remember the last time I had a female handle me quite like that," he said. "It's lonely, living the life I do."

"That was your choice," Ultra Magnus countered. "You're welcome to come back to Cybertron, whenever you wish."

"Yeah, thanks but no thanks."

Wildstrike leaned towards him. She stood only slightly shorter than he did, yet managed to look more intimidating with the cold gaze she carried in her bright blue optics.

"Where's the Taskforce headquarters?" She asked him.

"I don't know," Deadeye said. "The compound was it." The silence that followed made him look around worriedly, confusion etched on his features. "_Wasn't it?_"

Wildstrike looked past him and to Ultra Magnus.

"Was it, sir?"

"I don't know." The Autobot Commander shook his head.

"Raf and I plan on finding out where the Taskforce have their main base," Jack said. The three Cybertronians looked down at him, with Ultra Magnus raising one optic ridge ever so slightly. "There's a Unit-E office in Carson City. That's where we have to go." He spoke confidently, despite his reservations regarding the proposed plan. It felt good to be the one calling the shots instead of the Autobots. There was something confidence-boosting when one knew something these advanced aliens did not, as childish as the thought was. Even with Miko's abduction and Fowler's death hanging over him, Jack did feel some excitement at the prospect of turning the tide against the Taskforce. That really should not be too difficult with three Autobots to help him, and Rafael for good measure. Yet, when push came to shove, he would likely have to resort to utilising the revolver he had stashed in his trousers. Something told him he might need heavier firepower if he were to get through what lay ahead.

"Carson City?" Deadeye knew the place. "Sounds good to me." He glanced at Ultra Magnus and then to Wildstrike. "What do you two think? Carson City sound like it could yield some results?" He rubbed his hands together, his excitement not at all infectious when the two other Autobots were concerned. Wildstrike just watched him with a fairly dour look on her face.

"Can I have my guns back, boss?" Deadeye tried the request again, only for Ultra Magnus to shake his head. "So, ah, when _can_ I have them back?"

"When I'm sure you won't run out on us," Ultra Magnus replied, his voice stern. "Let's make a few things clear: You follow my lead, Deadeye. That means you follow my orders. None of this 'rebel without a cause' nonsense. You step out of line and I'll shoot you. Just like you did to me, back at the compound. I think I should do the same to you right now, just so you know how it feels to have a round like that burn through your frame."

"I didn't take you for the vengeful sort, Magnus."

"You don't know me well enough." With one hand, Ultra Magnus shoved Deadeye in the back, causing him to momentarily stumble forwards. "Now transform. We're moving out."


	27. Fight or Flight

**Fight or Flight**

Bumblebee could feel his strength leaving him as time passed, when the last of the synthetic energon that had been coursing through him began to wear off. Any 'high' he had been on was long over and now, in the full throes of withdrawal, he could feel nothing but aches and pains all throughout his body. Compounded by the fact he only had one arm, a few crudely patched-up wounds at his torso and a former Decepticon doctor tagging along behind him made his situation all the more complicated. Escape had been on his mind since the beginning of his captivity on board Cyclonus' cruiser, however he had not thought he might end up in quite the sorry state by the time he was able to make good of an opportunity to break out.

His movements had slowed, enough for Knock Out to make a comment. The doctor was nothing but worry and anxiety, staying behind Bumblebee as the pair made their way off of an elevator and onto deck sixteen of the apparently large cruiser. Bumblebee had no idea just how large it was, as he had not seen it once from the outside. If Cyclonus' personal yacht was a part of it, then the cruiser itself must have been massive. General Cyclonus' "yacht" had been large enough on its own.

Bumblebee started down the corridor ahead, Knock Out following closely. In Bumblebee's one and only arm he clutched the flechette shotgun that he had acquired from the fallen Decepticon guard. Knock Out held a side-arm, though even now his grip on the weapon was visibly shaky.

As for the ground-bridge control room, Bumblebee figured that he should have asked the Decepticon guard for better directions since he had no idea where on this deck his intended destination was located. The pair came to a T-junction in the mostly grey and purple corridor, a subdued glow emanating from the series of white lights set into the ceiling and walls. Here, Bumblebee stopped for a moment, his arms and legs aching. The world seemed to spin all around him, if only for a moment, before righting itself.

"Your optics," Knock Out said, looking at him. "They've lost their green hue."

"Is that a good thing?" Bumblebee was surprised by the feebleness of his own voice.

"It means the synth-en's virtually gone from your system," Knock Out replied.

"Really? Because I feel awful." Bumblebee ran a hand over his head. The pounding in his helm felt like it would be enough to make it explode.

The sound of approaching footsteps became audible then, coming from somewhere down the left hall and immediately the doctor fell silent, nodding in the direction of the noise.

Bumblebee peeked around the corner, watching as two burly Decepticon soldiers strolled towards them. He ducked his head back and the pair strolled by. As soon as they were within reach, Bumblebee turned his shotgun around in his left hand and swung it like a club, the stock connecting with the back of the head of one of the guards. He fell onto all fours, the other turning around in response to the sudden attack. The second guard was a fairly broad-shouldered, mostly silver and grey Decepticon; his friend being a slightly slimmer ground-pounder with a similar colour scheme.

Knock Out fired a shot from his pistol, wincing as the weapon fired. The red blast of energy struck the Decepticon guard in the side, causing him to let out a cry of pain. Bumblebee lunged for him, his joints hurting at the sudden exertion. Nonetheless, he fought through it, knocking the second guard to the floor before planting the barrel of the shotgun against the bottom of his chin. His optics met with the glowing red ones of the Decepticon beneath him and for a brief moment there was visible fear in his eyes. Bumblebee could feel no remorse for those who had tortured him and pitted him against a friend.

He pulled the trigger, causing the Decepticon's face to disappear in a flash. Energon fluid splattered across his face and chest, the guard's mangled head falling back as the Autobot rose onto his feet. He swivelled around to face the other, slimmer Decepticon, pointing the barrel towards his head. This one was on his knees, looking along the shotgun's sights and straight into Bumblebee's optics. He kept a straight face, even with his comrade lying dead nearby.

"Knock Out, grab this one," Bumblebee ordered. He glanced over to the doctor, who eyed him strangely, one optic ridge raised.

"Why?"

"Because I've only got one arm," Bumblebee said. "Grab him. He'll be our guide."

Knock Out put away his sidearm and pulled the Decepticon to his feet with both arms. The soldier rose up, with Bumblebee keeping his shotgun pointed squarely at him.

"Show us the way to the ground-bridge control room," Bumblebee said. "Do that and you won't end up like your friend over there."

The Decepticon soldier glanced at the friend in question and then back to Bumblebee.

"You're outnumbered on this ship," the Decepticon said. "What makes you think you'll get off it alive?"

"Because you're going to help me," Bumblebee countered. "Tell us the way."

The Decepticon soldier was silent for a prolonged period, considering his options, his face maintaining a grim expression the whole way through. Meanwhile, Bumblebee listened carefully for any approaching footsteps or voices, as the noise of the shots that had been fired here likely would not have gone unnoticed. The Decepticon soldier was probably counting on just this.

"Knock Out, step aside," Bumblebee said. Knock Out let go of the Decepticon and did as he was told. Bumblebee stepped forwards, planting the barrel of the shotgun against the Decepticon's neck. The soldier's red optics widened noticeably.

"Before any of your friends come by, I think I'll just blow your head off. All it takes is a pull of the trigger." Speaking of heads, Bumblebee's continued to pound painfully. His body hungered for more of the synthetic energon and it apparently hurt him all the more to know he would not be getting any. He certainly would not willingly take anymore, regardless of how much he ached for it. Yet, the boost to speed and strength such a substance would give him may have actually proven helpful in his current situation.

"All right, Autobot," the Decepticon soldier said. "The ground bridge control room is down the hall, take the right. You won't miss it."

"Thanks." Bumblebee lowered the shotgun, a look of relief crossing the Decepticon's face. Instead, the Autobot stuck the barrel against the soldier's stomach and fired, blowing a gaping hole into him, spurting energon fluid and metal fragments all over the floor before him. The Decepticon let out a shout, clutching at his innards as he fell to his side. He began to writhe and groan where he lay. Bumblebee turned his attention down the corridor, barely giving the wounded Decepticon a second thought. Knock Out looked down at the Decepticon soldier, a startled look on his face, before he returned his attention towards Bumblebee.

"Are you feeling all right, Bumblebee?" He asked.

"No," the Autobot answered flatly. He started walking down the hall, Knock Out falling into step behind him. The doctor pulled his pistol out, even if his grip on the weapon was visibly shaky. He had rarely needed to fire a weapon in anger, Bumblebee knew him well enough to know that the only time Knock Out fought was when he had the clear advantage. And right now, neither of them were in any kind of advantageous position.

As they neared the ground-bridge control room, the sounds of multiple voices and footsteps became audible, echoing down the metal corridors. The Decepticon soldier had given them fairly accurate directions, leading the pair to a set of open double doors, behind them a vast circular room populated with several Decepticons. A green glow emanated from the far end of the room, where a ground-bridge had been open, a swirling mass of green and blue energy where several Decepticons stood before it. Bumblebee came to the doorway as these Decepticons turned around and headed into the portal. They were seemingly swallowed up by it while another Decepticon manipulated the holographic terminal at the wall on the left. The display showed what Bumblebee knew immediately was a three-dimensional map of wherever the Decepticon squad had been sent. It appeared to be a rocky valley of some sort.

There were two others in the control room. A large, broad-shouldered figure with a mostly orange and red finish stood in the centre, accompanied by a burly Decepticon guard who was talking with him. It was the orange figure, tall and imposing, who caught Bumblebee's attention. This one turned around as Bumblebee slipped quietly into the room, and while the Autobot ducked behind a control terminal he caught sight of this particular Cybertronian's more defining features.

The crest on his head, much like what Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus had, was one thing. The glowing blue optics were another. And finally, the Autobot insignia emblazoned on his chest in stark orange caught Bumblebee's eye. He recognized this Autobot as Star Saber, the one who had ordered the torture he had been put through, all in an attempt to turn him to whatever warped ideals the Autobot zealot had.

"If the humans cannot rid us of these heathens, then we will simply have to do it ourselves." Star Saber looked straight towards the door. His voice carried an authoritative tone, very much stentorian, the sort of voice that could easily catch the attention of others. Whatever conversation he had been having with the other Decepticon, it had ended abruptly for he had begun to stare very intently in Bumblebee's general direction. As for Knock Out, the Decepticon doctor had slipped in at the same time Bumblebee had, lying down behind a set of steps near the terminal Bumblebee crouched behind, placing him just out of the Autobot's view.

Behind Star Saber, the ground-bridge deactivated, leaving the short tunnel it had opened in front of empty. Bumblebee ducked his head back around the terminal, feeling as if the Autobot had looked straight into his eyes. He looked back at the door behind them, watching as a trio of Decepticons rounded a corner out in the corridor and started straight for the ground-bridge control room. This put the trio into the perfect position to see both Bumblebee and Knock Out. One of them shouted and the three of them started running towards the open doors, giving the pair of Autobots only seconds to react.

Bumblebee stood up and fired the shotgun, planting the rounds into the control panel by the door. It exploded in a shower of sparks and the double doors slid shut, locking before the trio of Decepticons could be upon them. While they started thumping on the metal bulkheads, Bumblebee swivelled around to face the other enemies inside the control room with him. The Decepticon at the control terminal ahead was the first to react to him, pulling out a neutron assault rifle only for Bumblebee to fire in his direction. The flechettes hit the control terminal, causing a mass of sparks and plume of smoke to erupt forth. This was enough to cause the Decepticon to stumble backwards a few steps, allowing Bumblebee to fire another shot that caught the hostile squarely in the chest. He tumbled backwards over the guard rail and fell from the platform onto the floor below, his torso riddled with jagged holes.

The other Decepticon who had been standing by Star Saber shifted one arm into an energy cannon and started shooting. One of the shots struck the control panel near Bumblebee, showering him with sparks as he ducked and rolled to one side. Knock Out remained where he was, peeking over the steps with his pistol drawn, firing a few pot-shots in the general direction of the enemy.

Bumblebee rose to his feet, watching as Star Saber ahead stepped to one side. He put one forearm in front of him, a large oval-shaped blue energy shield erupting from the armour there. He held it out before him as Bumblebee fired a shot at him, the flechettes ricocheting off of the shield, sending ripples across it.

The other Decepticon sent another volley of energy bolts his way. Bumblebee jumped forwards, diving ahead with the shotgun raised, some of the bolts zipping by him. He pulled the trigger on the shotgun as he sailed through the air, the flechettes connecting with the Decepticon's head. The top half of his head was sheared clean off, sending his lifeless corpse falling forwards where it tumbled against a terminal, smearing blue energon fluid in its wake. As for Star Saber, he kept his forearm energy shield raised. Bumblebee hit the floor, shifting his aim down in an attempt to hit Star Saber in the unprotected legs. However, the Autobot zealot was fast, crouching low as the shotgun fired. The flechettes struck his forearm shield again, all of them bouncing off of it harmlessly, sending the armour piercing darts flying every which way.

Bumblebee quickly jumped back onto his feet, pointing the shotgun squarely at Star Saber. The Autobot zealot drew his battle plate across his mouth, leaving his blue optics visible. As before, they showed very little emotion. Behind Bumblebee, Decepticon soldiers thumped on the metal doors. Knock Out had risen to his feet, watching Star Saber with visible worry.

"Who's this?" He asked. "And why is he wearing an Autobot emblem?"

"Star Saber," Bumblebee said, ensuring the disgust he felt was clear in his voice.

"You have come at an interesting time, Bumblebee," Star Saber said. He kept his forearm shield raised in front of him, a wise move on his part for Bumblebee would certainly blast him the moment he deactivated it. "I just sent a squad to eliminate your friends. They have been trying to locate this very ship, but in doing so neglected to take proper measures to ensure any scanners of theirs would not be traced." If he was smug, he did not show it. His voice was level, his tone blunt. "I do have to commend you for holding out as long as you have. The synthetic energon we use is woefully unstable and prone to causing violent, unpredictable reactions in those who are injected with it. And to compound this, the withdrawal can be severely draining. You must be feeling the strain now."

As much as Bumblebee hated it, Star Saber was right. He felt drained in a lot of regards and was even amazed himself that he had made it this far. He would need proper rest soon, otherwise he figured he would simply collapse.

"Are you going to tell me your evil scheme before you kill the both of us?" Bumblebee asked. He had seen enough human entertainment to know that this was a particularly popular thing for the villains of the piece to do. Star Saber seemed the sort who would do such a thing. Not only that, but it would be very helpful, as Bumblebee was still very much in the dark as to what the whole situation was about.

However, Star Saber tilted his head slightly in response, his free-hand going for his back.

"Of course not." His hand clutched the hilt of the staff he had planted against his upper back. He pulled it free of the magnetic clips, holding the surprisingly short instrument before him. With a flick of the wrist, the staff extended to twice its length, coming in to almost his full height. One end carried a pair of blue energy blades, both of which shimmered with each movement of the weapon. The rest of the staff was of silver chrome, its surface polished to a reflective sheen.

Bumblebee kept his shotgun trained on the Autobot. He did not look forward to the fight he knew was coming. His current state was far removed from what he was used to.

"The one-armed warrior and the Decepticon turncoat," Star Saber said, holding his staff with the bladed end pointed towards the pair. It sounded like he was gloating, Bumblebee could not tell for sure. "You cannot hope to match me. I have been around far longer than the both of you. I have fought in many battles, before and during the Great War."

"I didn't take you for one to gloat," Bumblebee said. Star Saber shifted into a ready posture, his forearm shield at his left arm and the bladed staff clutched in his right hand.

"I only state the truth," Star Saber said. "And the truth here is..." He started walking forwards, starting to close the distance between himself and Bumblebee. The Autobot warrior took a step backwards, weighing his options. None were particularly appealing.

_"You are both going to die screaming!"_ Star Saber lunged forwards and Bumblebee found himself on the receiving end of the bladed staff far quicker than he had been expecting.

* * *

_What time was it?_ Wheeljack awoke from the Cybertronian equivalent of sleep, his back against the floor in one of the forgotten, somewhat dusty and dimly lit storage areas within the wreck of the _Harbinger_. He felt refreshed for the first time since arriving on Earth, although this feeling was quickly diminished when he remembered everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Being hunted by humans was not the most comfortable situation to wake up to. And, to add to his increasingly bad mood, Skystreaker was nowhere to be found. _I should have thought as much_, he realised. _She doesn't strike me as the kind to stick around after the fact._

Wheeljack rose to his feet, flexing his joints as he did so. He checked his weapons; both his one sword and his hold-out pistol were where he had left them, on his back and at his waist respectively. In earlier years, he might have felt really good about himself. However, that had not been the case for a long time. Maybe it was his dour mood when he had been working on Cybertron the past nine Earth years that had sent plenty of females away from him. He and Skystreaker had bonded, sure, but he got the impression that they may have gone _the whole way_.

_Am I going to have to ask her?_ She was not crazy, was she? No crazier than he was, at least. _A perfect match, maybe?_ The thought made him shudder. She had likely been thinking the same thing and, unsurprisingly, the thought had made her uneasy. It was making him uneasy, even though he knew, deep down, that he could see himself in her, albeit with slight differences. Her being female, for one. And a flier. And a Decepticon. He had come a long way since his Decepticon killing days.

It did not surprise him that she had disappeared somewhere. Wheeljack made his way out of the store room and out into the corridor. There were some broken cables hanging from the ceiling, with panelling missing from parts of the walls. Not exactly luxury accommodations, but when one was being pursued by heavily armed humans and even heavier armed Decepticons, hiding out in a dump like this was practically a necessity.

He worked his way back to the control room. There, he found Doubletake seated at the main terminal. The screen in front of him was lit up, displaying a map of the nation whilst feeds of data streamed down along its left. He looked up and swivelled his seat around as Wheeljack entered, the Autobot cop still rolling a red emergency flare between his teeth.

"You well rested?" He asked.

"I'd say so," Wheeljack answered. "You know where Skystreaker is?"

Doubletake shrugged.

"She isn't with you?"

Wheeljack narrowed his optics. Had she run out on them altogether? He let out a sigh. She had certainly made her intentions clear yesterday, that her best chances of survival were through staying with him and the other Autobots, yet apparently she had changed her mind. He found himself feeling like he had been used, then again what should he have expected from a Decepticon? He, and the other Autobots for that matter, had been used as protection by her when one boiled it down. Not only that, but the fact that she deserted after what the two of them had did left him feeling somewhat angry, not just to her but to himself for falling so easily for her "charms".

"She's run off, hasn't she?" Doubletake did not sound too bothered by this possibility. "Can't say I'm surprised." He peered curiously at Wheeljack through narrowed blue optics. "I got the impression that the two of you..."

"There was nothing," Wheeljack interrupted. Lying was something he felt he was pretty good at, although Doubletake looked unconvinced gaze as Wheeljack spoke. "She was, as the humans would say, a 'bitch'."

"Huh." Doubletake rose out of his seat. "That's too bad. Then again, would you expect anything more from a 'Con?"

Wheeljack did not reply. He watched as Doubletake walked over to another, smaller terminal and began to tap at some of the holographic buttons on display.

"You found Bumblebee yet?" He asked Doubletake.

"No." The Autobot cop sounded annoyed. "I haven't found anything. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm beginning to run out of ideas."

Wheeljack considered their options for a moment. He still had the signal beacon he had recovered from Unit-E headquarters. He had since stripped it out of its shell and left himself with a small, but reliable homing beacon he could potentially attach to just about anything. Most others would have scrapped such an item, but not Wheeljack; he was short on equipment as it was and he was willing to use just about anything to give him some kind of edge.

"I got this beacon," Wheeljack said. He pulled the small cylindrical device from where it was clipped to his waist. He tossed it to Doubletake, who caught it in one hand and briefly examined it.

"This could be useful," Doubletake said. "If we could find something important to shove it in. Like a Decepticon transport."

"General Cyclonus' yacht, maybe?" Wheeljack smiled as he said this. He knew then he had a plan in mind, as unlikely as it was to succeed. It would not be the first time he had gone to carry out some crazy, even suicidal, scheme. "If the big guy came down, we'd be able to stick that on his ship and track it back to its source."

"That's just the problem," Doubletake replied. He tossed the device back to Wheeljack, who caught it and clipped it back upon his hip. "Cyclonus isn't going to come back down to Earth unless he absolutely has to. He'd just send his underlings at us. He might not even be on Earth anymore."  
Wheeljack shrugged. The beacon was not something he was just going to abandon. He needed anything that could give him an edge.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Wheeljack raised an optic ridge. His patience had been wearing thin lately, not that he had had much to begin with. "We're outnumbered, outgunned and stranded. Those would usually be good odds for a Wrecker, but even back in the war there would always be some kind of exit strategy. A failsafe in place, something other than blowing yourself up. But there's none of that this time around. All we have are a few guns and our instincts. And my instincts tell me screwing around here any longer is a bad idea."

"You're probably right."

"I know I'm right."

"You got a plan?" Doubletake was quick to correct himself. "I mean, of course you don't have a plan. You're a Wrecker. _Were_, anyway."

"Magnus says I'm a 'builder' now," Wheeljack said. He scoffed. "If he means 'building explosives', then sure, I guess I could be a 'builder'. But we have to do something, Doubletake. We have to take the fight to the bad guys before they catch us off-guard. And I'm _tired_ of being caught off-guard."

Doubletake appeared to consider this for a moment. He eventually shook his head, an uncertain look on his face.

"As much as I like to take down Decepticons, I ain't got any ideas," he said. "They can find us a lot easier than we can find them."

"So we meet them on even terms," Wheeljack suggested.

"How do you suggest we do that?"

He shrugged.

"We'll have to work that out. I don't exactly plan ahead." He paused briefly. He hated feeling like this, at a complete loss on what to do. Of course, he could just head outside and start driving. Chances are the bad guys would come to him. Yet he did not want to leave Doubletake here, nor have him follow him into an ambush. Although he hardly knew the fellow Autobot, he did not wish to be responsible for his death, no matter how well Doubletake might have been able to handle himself in a fight.

"How do they do it in cop-land, anyway?" He asked Doubletake, curious. "You _are_ a cop, aren't you?"

Doubletake nodded his head. He rolled the emergency flare between his metal teeth thoughtfully, eyeing Wheeljack curiously as he considered the questions.

"There's a lot of bureaucracy," Doubletake replied, after a pause. "My position as Security Chief nets me some lenience regarding the paperwork, but even I have my bosses. And as much as I would love to go into a Decepticon worker district in Iacon and shoot anyone there who steps out of line, my superiors won't allow it. They'd rather play nice. That's 'playing nice' with those who likely don't even know what 'nice' means."

Wheeljack smiled.

"I like your attitude," he said. "You know, I never considered a job in law enforcement. I wasn't even sure Iacon had an actual police force."

"Rest assured, it does," Doubletake said. "It's comprised of me and about six others. And then there are a bunch of bureaucrats who oversee what we do and, more often than not, get in the way. That's what happens in peace-time. Everyone gets so afraid of doing the dirty work to keep the peace because they're worried it'll start another war or something." He shook his head, the thought one that very obviously greatly irritated him. "Everything we do has to go through the system."

"Does Magnus have anything to do with you guys?"

"Hardly. He's relegated law enforcement over to some more bureaucratically-minded friends of his." Doubletake smiled at Wheeljack then. "You should talk to him about it some time. Tell him we need a bit more leeway with how we deal with Decepticon troublemakers. He might listen to you."

"Listen? Sure, he'll listen to me. Doesn't mean he'll agree." Wheeljack could understand the attitude, as much as he disagreed with it. Ultra Magnus had been burdened with leading the rebuilt city of Iacon (and Cybertron in general, even if the Autobot capital was the only city actually populated to any significant extent). He had help, but he could not do everything. And trying to keep the peace when a large chunk of the population were ex-Decepticons was a difficult task in itself. Trying to find peaceful solutions for any problems the Decepticons in the city gave was necessary, to prevent old grudges from coming to the fore again.

"I think he'll probably change his mind now," Wheeljack added. "He'd be an idiot not to, after what's happened."

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of running footsteps, metal clanking against metal, noises that grew in volume as their origin neared the control room. Wheeljack turned to face the open doorway, his optics widening in surprise at the sight of Skystreaker. She had rushed into the room, a fearful look in her red optics. Doubletake looked to her as well, still rolling the emergency flare between his metal teeth.

"Where the hell have you been?" Wheeljack asked, some slight anger seeping into his voice. It faded quickly and instead he gave her a fairly blithe look, his next words reeking of sarcasm: "You almost broke my spark, babe. At least leave a goodbye note next time."

Skystreaker gave him a disgusted look in return.

"I think there are more pressing issues at hand," she replied. "Like the half a dozen Decepticons I just saw ground-bridge in nearby."

Doubletake appropriately narrowed his optics. Wheeljack felt some surprise, sure, but at the same time he had been expecting something like this to occur. It had only been a matter of time before their enemies found them. The fact that it was Decepticons and not humans this time would make for a welcome change, or return to the norm depending on how one looked at it. The thought of taking down some Decepticons actually warmed him. The fact that they were outnumbered and outgunned only made him all the more excited.

"What were you doing outside?" Wheeljack asked.

"I was flying," Skystreaker replied. "I'm not a prisoner here, am I? I have to stretch my wings once in a while. I'll probably go mad if I'm kept cooped up for too long."

"And that'll make a difference _how?_"

Skystreaker ignored Wheeljack's remark. Doubletake had shifted his right arm into a compact submachine gun, sleek and painted white to match his overall paint scheme. Wheeljack figured he should at least get ready for whatever fight awaited them, so he took his sword in his right hand and his hold-out pistol in his left.

"You said six 'Cons, right?" Doubletake asked.

"Yeah. They ground-bridged in over the ridge nearby."

"They might have tracked our scanner's signal," Doubletake said. "I did what I could to hide it, but there was always a chance it could happen."

"What do you suggest?" Wheeljack turned to Doubletake. "Staying in here would be suicide. All they have to do is toss in a few grenades, bring this whole place down. It's falling apart as it is."

"We'll go outside," Doubletake replied. "We have no other choice."

Doubletake did not waste anymore time. He moved past Skystreaker and headed out into the corridor, leaving both Wheeljack and the Decepticon flyer to follow him. Wheeljack looked over to Skystreaker as they walked through the dimly lit and mostly dirty corridor. She avoided his gaze at first until finally their optics met and she rolled hers with disdain.

"What do you want?" She asked.

"I'm still trying to work you out," Wheeljack answered. This was true enough. Skystreaker might have been abrasive and snarky, perhaps a mirror image of himself as much as he hated thinking about it, yet there were some things about her he could not pinpoint. "Was I just a good lay to you?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Skystreaker said.

The trio emerged from the wreck of the _Harbinger_ and into the light of morning. There were thick clouds above, grey and strangely ominous. A cold wind billowed through the valley, kicking up some sand as it went. Doubletake had stopped nearby, standing to the left of the makeshift scanner dish. Across the valley, about one hundred metres ahead, stood five Decepticons. Wheeljack watched each of them carefully, taking in each of their mostly neutral faces and the weapons they carried. Up above, on one of the cliff-faces, another Decepticon shifted into view. This one carried a large rifle. Most of the Decepticons were grey and silver in colour, save the one standing at the front. This one was a yellow-gold in colour with purple shoulders and blazing yellow optics. Unlike his compatriots, he did not have a weapon grasped in his hands. He stepped forwards, gesturing to the others to follow, closing the distance towards the three Autobots.

Doubletake raised his submachine gun, keeping it trained on the lead Decepticon of the group. Wheeljack figured that the sniper up on the cliff was the most immediate concern. If a fire-fight started he would have to take him out first, somehow. His hold-out pistol was likely not fit for such a task.

"I know this one," Doubletake said. The lead Decepticon heard this and smiled broadly, baring a set of jagged metal teeth. He then bowed mockingly, exaggerating his arm movements in a clownish manner.

"Oh, Security Chief Doubletake!" The Decepticon stood upright and opened his arms, as if he wanted to embrace the Autobot. "I thought you were on Cybertron."

"Unfortunately for you, I'm here," Doubletake said.

"You know this 'Con?" Wheeljack asked.

Doubletake did not take his eyes away from the Decepticon ahead of him as he spoke, quickly and to the point. "His name's Dragstrip. I arrested him five years ago. Threw him in the slammer for weapons smuggling. He escaped." Doubletake added this last part with considerable derision.

"And General Cyclonus was kind enough to take me in," Dragstrip said. He maintained his smile as he regarded the two Autobots and one ex-Decepticon flyer. He apparently found the three of them amusing to look at, judging from the way he chuckled. "So, we have a cop, a Wrecker and a traitor. Quite the combination, I must say. How many guns you got between the lot of you? Two? My squad's got ten times that."

"Good," Wheeljack said. Dragstrip peered at him curiously. "We'll be sure to take them off your corpses once you're all dead."

Dragstrip clapped his hands together, still smiling. Behind him, his four friends readied their weapons while the sniper up on the valley ridge took up position amongst some boulders.

"I could get to like you," Dragstrip said teasingly, pointing one finger to Wheeljack. "That is, if I didn't need to kill you. Though I'll be sure to mount your head on my wall. I like the way it looks, with the fins and all."

Wheeljack glanced towards the sniper. He got the impression that the Decepticon was sighting in on him. There was very little cover to speak of, so once the shooting started he knew he would have to act quickly if he did not want his head getting blown off.

"We gonna fight or what?" Wheeljack asked, returning his attention to Dragstrip.

"Why even bother?" Dragstrip inquired. "You've got no chance. I could have reinforcements here in minutes..."

Wheeljack did not let him finish. He raised his hold-out pistol and fired, a white beam lancing forth from the barrel. Once this happened, things became very chaotic.


	28. Warrior Zealot

**Warrior Zealot**

Bumblebee had to raise his one good arm hurriedly, swivelling the shotgun around in his grip so that the firing end was in his hand. He held it above him, batting away the powerful overhead blow Star Saber sent down with his bladed staff. The Autobot had to grind his feet against the metal floor to properly absorb the strike, yet with only one arm he could not parry it, only slightly redirect it so that the bladed end fell somewhat to his right. Instead of hitting him in the head like it would have had he not deflected, it instead slashed through the armour at his right shoulder, sending a stinging pain across his chest. He grunted and quickly side-stepped the rest of the strike, with Star Saber stepping past him as his momentum carried him a few steps forwards.

Bumblebee swung his shotgun like a club, but Star Saber turned to face him with alarming speed, his staff gripped in both hands as he batted the gun away and sent it flying clean out of the Autobot's grasp. It clanked upon the floor several metres away, well out of reach. Star Saber spun his staff around and sent forwards a sharp thrust. Bumblebee dodged the double-pronged blades so that they swept by his left shoulder. His one hand reached out to grab hold of the weapon, but Star Saber kicked him in the lesser armoured stomach, knocking him backwards and sending him falling against a computer terminal. The top panel was smashed under his weight, sparks flying out and the holographic display switching off abruptly. Star Saber lunged forwards, sweeping the bladed staff from around his right. Bumblebee, despite the pain he was feeling, ducked underneath the sweeping attack and tackled Star Saber head on. His spark was pounding wildly, as it often did in the heat of battle. He had learned long ago to control his fear, even when the odds were sorely stacked against him. It might have been two against one, but he could already see that Star Saber would not be an easy opponent.

As for Knock Out, the former Decepticon doctor stood some distance away. He had his pistol raised, though he seemed conflicted as to whether to take a shot. He was likely worried he would hit Bumblebee by accident. His margin for error became even narrower as Bumblebee knocked Star Saber off of his feet through the tackle, only for the Autobot zealot to throw him aside as if he weighed close to nothing. Bumblebee found himself hitting the floor a short distance away, landing on his side while Star Saber jumped back onto his feet.

Knock Out fired a shot then, the red blast of energy flying wide a few inches of Star Saber's frame. The Autobot turned to face him as he fired again. However, Star Saber swept his staff in front of him, deflecting the bolt of energy, sending it flying completely wide before it struck the far wall. He closed the distance between the two of them quickly and Knock Out could do little but step backwards, his red optics wide as Star Saber pressed the bladed staff forwards. Knock Out may not have been the most experienced combatant, but his hurried and uncoordinated somersault to one side saved him from getting impaled. Star Saber followed him, swinging his staff around, the blades swiping across Knock Out's back. They cut through his back armour like butter and Knock Out let out a yelp.

Bumblebee was on his feet by this point and rushed for Star Saber, getting to him before he could inflict anymore harm upon Knock Out. He jumped and let forth a powerful kick that caught Star Saber in the chest, making him stumble backwards a few steps. Bumblebee fell backwards in such a way that he was able to bounce off of his one hand, allowing him to right himself quickly, even if extra effort was needed since he had only the one arm. His stump of a right one was not a whole lot of help in the current situation.

"Knock Out, get the ground-bridge working!" He shouted. Knock Out rose groggily to his feet as Star Saber lunged for Bumblebee. The Decepticon doctor got the message, nodding his head before he started making a run for the main control panel.

"I am impressed you have been able to overcome your disability so quickly," Star Saber said. He spun his staff around in one hand, causing Bumblebee to instinctively take a step back. He stood in a ready pose, waiting for whatever attacks Star Saber sent his way. At the bulkhead door of the control room, the Decepticon soldiers outside had ceased pounding upon it. They were likely in the process of attempting other means of getting it open, whether it was by manipulation of circuitry or simply blasting it energy weaponry.

"I am curious to see how you would fare with both arms missing," Star Saber added. His voice was its usual stern tone, as if the fight was not exerting him at all. Bumblebee, on the other hand, felt utterly strained. He was surprised he had been able to get this far without collapsing.

Star Saber stepped forwards, sweeping his staff to the left. Bumblebee ducked, but the attack was a feint that Star Saber was quick to turn around, bringing the non-bladed end up from underneath so that it connected painfully upon Bumblebee's face. Falling backwards, Bumblebee's head was wracked with a throbbing that seemed to rattle everything above his neck. His back hit a metal pillar and he was quick to steady himself upon it, though he did not get much chance to recover from the strike before Star Saber was upon him again. He ducked underneath another sweeping attack that sent the double-pronged blade scraping loudly across the metal pillar.

Bumblebee ducked to the left, moving around Star Saber. From what he could tell, this Autobot's fighting style was reliant upon sweeping blows, ones that would likely be lethal if received directly, as well as the occasional feint. It was a style of fighting that looked oddly elegant yet was very aggressive, a contrast to the usually brutal and unrefined styles that most Decepticons fought with. As for Bumblebee, he had always been reliant on speed and agility; going in, getting a few quick blows in before backing off had been his modus operandi for a long time. That was not working out so well with him right now, with only the one arm and an overall weakened physical state to contend with.

Star Saber turned to face Bumblebee as the Autobot warrior went to punch him. He deflected the blow with his staff, swatting Bumblebee's arm aside before bringing the bladed end of the staff down. Bumblebee jumped backwards, the blades missing him by less than an inch, but Star Saber spun the staff around quickly. The bottom end whacked Bumblebee in the side, sending a sharp reverberating pain through his torso. He jumped away from the follow-up, putting a few metres worth of space between him and his opponent.

At the door, the Decepticon soldiers in the corridor outside had taken to firing their weapons at combined energy weapons fire was beginning to visibly heat the metal. The centre point had begun to glow somewhat red in colour, but at the rate this patch was expanding it would likely be several more minutes before the metal began to melt. However, there was an explosion upon the door at that point; someone had used a rocket launcher of some sort, sending a missile straight into the gradually heating section of the door. The whole thing shook in its housing and the _thump_ of the explosion echoed loudly throughout the control room.

Knock Out worked frantically at the control panel. For whatever reason he did not appear to be having any luck. Bumblebee shot a glance at him, one that spelled out his need for him to hurry.

"There's some sort of lockout active," Knock Out called to him from across the room. "I'm doing my best to get past it. Have patience, Bumblebee."

_Easy for you to say._ Bumblebee circled Star Saber, his opponent moving to face him at all times. Again, Star Saber spun his blade around with expert finesse before pointing the bladed end in Bumblebee's direction. Bumblebee bounced on his feet, waiting for Star Saber to attempt another attack. Even with the aching in his joints and the burning pain at his wounds, Bumblebee remained defiant. He was going to get through this, he would not let some whack-job religious zealot take him down.

* * *

The shot from Wheeljack's hold-out pistol hit Dragstrip in the shoulder, burning a hole through his armour before it sent him falling backwards. He lost the smug look on his face immediately, hitting the ground where he proceeded to clutch at the newly received wound with one hand while groaning in agony.

_"Open fire!"_ He shouted angrily from where he lay. _"Kill them!"_

Wheeljack saw the four Decepticons ahead raise their weapons and he dived, landing behind the makeshift scanner dish. Doubletake opened fire at the Decepticons ahead right as they did, his submachine gun sending forth high velocity rounds at an incredible rate. One of the Decepticons was riddled with the rounds whereas the others sent a hail of red bolts the trio's way. As for the Decepticon with the rifle on the ridge to the left, he took aim and sent a powerful bolt of blue-white energy towards the trio that struck the sand near Wheeljack.

Wheeljack rolled behind the makeshift scanner. Doubletake backed off towards the entrance to the _Harbinger_ wreck, remaining stalwart despite the volume of fire coming his way. Skystreaker, on the other hand, had no weapons and instead transformed rapidly. Within seconds she was in her Cybertronian jet form and she went roaring over Wheeljack, rising quickly over the valley while some of the Decepticons shifted their fire towards her. None of them were able to score a hit at the speed she was going and their attentions were quickly returned to both Doubletake and Wheeljack.

Dragstrip had shifted his right arm into a cannon and had stood up, taking a shot at Wheeljack as the Wrecker peered around the scanner dish. The shot slammed into the ground near him, showering him with dirt and sand. He stuck his head back into cover, aware that the Decepticon sniper was taking aim at him from upon the ridge. The next rifle shot hit the scanner dish, causing it to explode violently, sparks and metal debris falling upon Wheeljack where he lay. He brought his battle-plate across his face, covering all but his optics while he considered his next course of action.

Outnumbered and outgunned, he might have enjoyed himself more had he had more weapons. As for the Decepticon squad, they seemed confident in their victory and remained out in the open, firing their weapons at both him and Doubletake. The Autobot cop had gone prone by the entrance, placing himself in a slight dip in the valley floor. He had turned his attention towards the Decepticon sniper, sending a volley of submachine gun fire his way that pounded into the boulders around him and caused him to duck into cover momentarily.

Wheeljack took aim with his pistol through the narrow gap underneath the housing the scanner dish had been upon, prior to its destruction. He glimpsed Dragstrip's legs some distance away as the Decepticon made his way back towards his comrades. Wheeljack fired a shot, the beam clipping Dragstrip in the left leg. This caused the Decepticon to fall to his knees where he let out a shout, his face contorting with a mix anger and pain.

One of the Decepticons had started racing around the right, likely in an attempt to flank the pair of Autobots. Wheeljack leaned around the wrecked scanner dish and started shooting, two bolts of energy hitting home on the Decepticon soldier's torso. The soldier fell forwards, his momentum carrying him a short distance as he collapsed upon the sand, still alive but likely in a great deal of agony. Wheeljack fired twice more as the Decepticon went to pick himself up, planting a blast in the side that blew a chunk out of his armour and sent energon fluid spurting forth. The second shot hit the soldier in the side of the head, burning straight through the armoured helm. The Decepticon soldier fell limp on the sand and went motionless.

Doubletake was effectively pinned down where he was, bolts of red energy hammering the ground near him. He stuck his submachine gun over the top of the ditch and fired blindly, causing the remaining Decepticons to scatter as they sought what little cover there was on the valley floor. The sniper on the ridge sent another powerful plasma rifle blast at the pair of Autobots, this one striking the ground near Doubletake. He ducked his head down as dirt showered upon him, the impact leaving a small smouldering crater at the top of the ditch.

The roar of a jet engine became audible then and Wheeljack peeked around the wrecked scanner dish, watching with some surprise as Skystreaker came roaring in from above. She unfolded herself from her vehicle mode before landing upon the ridge a short distance behind the Decepticon sniper. Within seconds she was upon him, lunging forwards and knocking him over. Wheeljack found himself taken in by the sight of the brawl as Skystreaker locked her hands against the Decepticon's rifle and the pair began to struggle for it, both of them rolling between the boulders on the ridge-top. Skystreaker punched the Decepticon across the face multiple times before she finally snatched the rifle from his grip, causing him to visibly panic as she stood up and pointed it down at him. She did not waste any time pulling the trigger, the shot powerful enough to blow the Decepticon soldier's head apart, splattering bright blue energon fluid across the nearby boulders.

At least Wheeljack could be certain that Skystreaker could actually fight. She was quick to turn the rifle against the Decepticons on the ground, sending a shot into the back of one that blew a large chunk out of his armour. He fell forwards, landing in a heap on the sand. The other two Decepticons turned their guns towards her, opening fire while Dragstrip continued to shoot his arm cannon at Wheeljack and Doubletake. He was limping now, energon fluid trickling down his leg from where the Wrecker had shot him. He was also talking, no doubt into his comms, as he continued to move around to the right in an attempt to get a clean shot off at Wheeljack.

"I need reinforcements!" He shouted, frustration lacing his voice. "What do you mean you can't send them? Forget the ground-bridge. _Just send them on a damn transport!"_

"Things not working out for you, Dragstrip?" Wheeljack shouted from behind the wrecked scanner dish. Dragstrip let out an angered snarl and continued shooting, one of the shots hitting the ground near Wheeljack's head. He ducked his head, getting showered with yet more dirt. As he recovered, Dragstrip pulled a grenade from his hip and armed it before sending the device sailing through the air with a fairly powerful throw.

Wheeljack saw it land a short distance away and immediately he was on his feet. He dived in the opposite direction of the grenade, tensing up as he awaited the inevitable detonation.

* * *

"I've got it!" Knock Out exclaimed. The ground-bridge opened up then, the swirling green mass of energy casting an eerie glow across the room. Bumblebee had no opportunity to celebrate in any fashion, as he was promptly sent flying halfway across the room from a blow that Star Saber sent into his chest, a sharp kick that took the Autobot off of his feet.

Bumblebee hit the floor and slid a few metres, hitting the fallen Decepticon he had blasted upon entering the room. Star Saber began to move towards him quickly, spinning his bladed staff around in an intimidating fashion. Bumblebee rolled over the dead Decepticon and quickly examined the body, his optics falling upon the blaster clipped to the Decepticon's waist. There were two grenades as well, one of which Bumblebee grabbed. As for Knock Out, he vaulted over the railing near the control panel and started to run for the ground bridge portal.

Bumblebee rose to his feet, only to duck under another swing from Star Saber's staff. He responded by kicking the imposing Autobot in the stomach, causing him to take a few steps backwards, a movement that gave Bumblebee the chance to snatch the blaster off of the dead Decepticon at his feet. He began to back away, heading for the ground bridge, all the while keeping the blaster pistol aimed at Star Saber. Pulling the trigger, he fired a red bolt of energy, one that Star Saber swatted away with his staff with surprising ease.

Knock Out did not hesitate to jump into the swirling ground-bridge. Bumblebee, several metres behind him, considered his options. Another loud _thump_ came from the door leading into the control room, the Decepticons on the other side coming ever closer to forcing it open. Star Saber stood ahead of him, holding his bladed staff at the ready. Bumblebee put the blaster to his waist and pulled the grenade he had taken off of the Decepticon. It was a typical model, high explosive, cylindrical in shape and built of black metal with a green indicator on the side. With a flick of the wrist he had armed it, the green light turning into a red one. He considered throwing it to Star Saber, but it was obvious that the Autobot zealot would easily get clear of the explosion. So, he opted for what he saw to be the next best thing.

Star Saber watched him, his optics portraying a neutral, if somewhat scowling, gaze. He was likely trying to determine exactly what Bumblebee was hoping to achieve with the grenade. Not that he would have to wait much longer to find out, as Bumblebee used his one good arm to send the grenade sailing through the air in the direction of the ground-bridge control terminal. As soon as he had done this, he turned and started to run for the portal. Star Saber saw what was coming and, in the few seconds he had to do something about it, realised that he could certainly not prevent the detonation. Instead, he focused his attention onto Bumblebee, who was on the verge of entering the ground-bridge portal at that point.

Bumblebee turned to take one last look at Star Saber in the second before the grenade detonated. Standing on the verge of the portal, he watched as Star Saber raised his blades staff as if it were a javelin and threw it. Bumblebee jumped into the portal then, feeling the staff fly over him, missing by mere inches as he fell into the mass of green and blue energy.

The grenade exploded, the portal shutting off abruptly. The force of the explosion knocked Star Saber onto the floor, flame enveloping the main terminal before the entire thing shattered from the concussive force of the blast. Metal fragments rained down across the control room and smoke filled the air, red warning lights switching on across the ship in response to the damage. The portal had vanished and Bumblebee had gone, leaving the control room empty save for Star Saber. The Autobot zealot easily rose back onto his feet. He looked about the room and surveyed the damage done, if only briefly, before he heard the door behind him finally open.

He heard Cyclonus' voice before he saw the Decepticon General.

"What in the name of the Allspark happened in here, Star Saber?" Cyclonus demanded. He did not sound pleased. Star Saber turned to face him; he and the three guards he had brought in with him. "And what is this I hear about you sending some of _my_ soldiers to attack the Autobots? Did you neglect to share that plan, Star Saber? Did you think you could simply go over my head, on board _my _ship?" Cyclonus, who was usually stern yet reserved, sounded to be on the verge of rage. Star Saber cared little for how the Decepticon General felt. If he was not willing to do what was necessary to ensure the success of their plans, then Star Saber would do it all himself.

* * *

Bumblebee had landed in sand and amongst rock, the sky above partially overcast and the air around him moderately cool. Somewhere nearby, he could hear weapons fire. And just in front of him, lying sprawled in the sand, was Knock Out. However, upon looking up to see the former Decepticon he noticed immediately that something was very wrong.

Knock Out had likely turned to face the portal in anticipation of Bumblebee's arrival. As a result, the bladed staff that Star Saber had thrown like a javelin, intended for Bumblebee, had instead missed the Autobot and gone through the portal with him. And, coming out of the end of it, the bladed end had found a home embedded in Knock Out's chest, the rest of the staff pointing skywards as Knock Out lay still on the sand. Bumblebee, despite the pain from his many injuries, scrambled onto his feet and rushed to Knock Out's side. Knock Out's red optics were still open and by all appearances he was still alive, although now in a sorry state with the double-pronged blade at the end of the staff jammed into his chest. Blue energon leaked out from around the blades and a slight trace was spilling from the corner of Knock Out's mouth. There was likely far more internal damage than immediate appearances might have indicated.

"Knock Out," Bumblebee said. He felt his spark turn cold. This was not how he had envisioned their escape. "Oh, no. _No, no, no_, _no, no_." He put a hand to the blades but a yelp from Knock Out in response to the touch was enough to make him draw that hand away quickly.

"I think...this one was...meant for you." Knock Out looked up at him and put on a weak smile.

"You're a doctor," Bumblebee said. "Tell me how to help." It was a feeble gesture, he knew this much. They only needed to get him some proper medical attention. This would be difficult, since from what he could see they were nowhere near a working space-bridge to take them to Cybertron. The only Cybertronian doctor they had in reach was Knock Out, and he was barely in a position to help himself.

"It's...in my spark," Knock Out replied. He spoke matter-of-factly, as if what was essentially death did not concern him much. This was a surprise, since Knock Out had always made it clear he did not enjoy putting himself into harm's way. Bumblebee would have thought that death was the one thing that would frighten the Decepticon doctor to his very core. "You...can't help me." He coughed then, sending a spittle of blue energon flying up and onto Bumblebee's neck and chest.

"Don't give up on me," Bumblebee said. He put aside his blaster pistol and put his one hand to Knock Out's chin, tilting his head so that their optics met. "You might be a pain in the aft, but you're a good pain in the aft. We didn't come this far just so you could go and die on me now." He did his best to keep his tone strong, to try and put some positivity forth so that Knock Out might have felt more inclined to hold on. Yet, even Bumblebee knew that mere positive talk could not heal Knock Out's wounds.

Knock Out convulsed then, causing Bumblebee's optics to widen, startled. He moved forwards, trying to hold the former Decepticon in place as his body shook and limbs flailed. Knock Out grunted through a clenched jaw as this played out, energon fluid spurting out of his mouth, his grunting giving way to a gargle as energon fluid caught upon his voicebox. The noise grated upon Bumblebee's audio receptors, chilling him to the core as he watched a friend die.

"Hang on," Bumblebee barked. Knock Out was past the point of being aware of his surroundings. His red optics stared skywards as his body shook the last of its life out of its form. _"Damn it, Knock Out!"_ Bumblebee raised his voice now, his control slipping. Everything that had happened to him in the last couple of days, all that pain and despair, finally came to the forefront and those emotions he had been bottling out exploded out of him like a fountain. _"Not now! Not like this!"_ That should be him on the ground. That should be him with the blades stuck in him, not Knock Out. A cruel twist of fate had sent them into Knock Out instead. Had Bumblebee not dodged the way he had...

"Knock Out," Bumblebee said. The Decepticon had fallen limp. His red optics had lost their glow and were devoid of life, his head tilted to one side with his face now carrying a blank expression. Bumblebee felt despair shoot through him like a bullet, stinging at his spark as he put a hand to his face and swallowed what emotions he could. There was nothing left for him to do here. Knock Out was gone.

From somewhere further down the valley, Bumblebee could hear the sounds of battle. He knew then that he could not stay here, there was no time for mourning. The Autobots needed his help.

* * *

Wheeljack had been knocked into the dirt by the grenade explosion. Nonetheless, he recovered quickly, his optics going to Dragstrip who was limping around the right flank. Up on the ridge, Skystreaker continued to use her newly acquired rifle to fire on the two Decepticon soldiers ahead, both of whom had scattered in an attempt to find cover on the mostly flat valley floor. Wheeljack, still on the ground, raised his holdout pistol and took another shot at Dragstrip. This one blew a chunk out of his left arm, causing the Decepticon to fall over as he put one arm to the new wound and shouted in pain. That was three searing holes Wheeljack had shot into him, though none had struck anything important, unfortunately. Wheeljack hoped to rectify this in short order. Dragstrip, however, rose to his feet and returned fire, causing Wheeljack to roll down into the same ditch Doubletake had been laying low in for the duration of the fire-fight.

Doubletake glanced over to him, keeping his head down as Dragstrip kept shooting. A few bolts of energy struck the top of the ditch, showering the pair with dirt. Wheeljack checked his hold-out pistol, noticing that the charge indicator had fallen into the red. He did not have the means to recharge it, as something like that would only be on Cybertron.

_That would be about right,_ he mused. He looked over to Doubletake. The Autobot cop appeared to be having no problems with his weapons. Wheeljack only had a sword and the signal beacon he had salvaged. At this point, all he could think of doing was turning to using his sword. The difficulty was that he would need to close the distance for that.

"Doubletake, could you cover me?" Wheeljack asked. The Autobot cop looked over to him curiously. "I'm going to go shove my sword up Dragstrip's aft, if that's all right with you."

"Go ahead," Doubletake replied. He rolled the emergency flare between his teeth as he spoke. "I'll keep the other ones off of you."

Wheeljack nodded. He put his holdout blaster to his waist, his sword clutched in his right hand as he rose over the top of the ditch. Dragstrip was still limping around the side, firing his arm cannon recklessly in the general direction of the two Autobots. As a result, his aim was not the best, making it all the more easier for Wheeljack to start running straight for him. The other two Decepticons were tied up with Doubletake's covering fire, only for Skystreaker to shoot one of them in the head anyway. This one hit the ground with the head practically gone, a smouldering stump in its place.

Wheeljack charged for Dragstrip, moving his sword quickly to deflect the few bolts of red energy that would have hit him. Dragstrip appeared to panic, his optics widening as the Autobot Wrecker closed upon him. He had little time to react when Wheeljack bowled into him, knocking him into the dirt. He went to plunge his sword into Dragstrip's stomach but a thought occurred to him, a brainwave of sorts that, if it worked, would prove to be one of his best ideas yet. Still, it was a long shot and he did not have much time to enact it.

He pulled the signal beacon from where it had been clipped to his waist, a twist of one section enough to take it apart. From within, he pulled out the small cylinder that comprised the main part of the device, the beacon itself, without the protective shell around it. Now with Dragstrip below him, Wheeljack stuck his sword into the Decepticon's chest, slicing open a gash that oozed blue energon and caused Dragtrsip to emit an agonized yelp.

With his other hand, he rammed the small finger-length cylinder into the gash, cramming it in as far as he could reach. He pulled out his hand, now sticky with Dragstrip's life energon, only for the Decepticon to push him off of him with one powerful shove. Wheeljack landed on his side on the sand a short distance away, watching as Dragstrip picked himself up and looked down at his newly created wound with a horrified expression. He had not noticed Wheeljack cram the beacon into his chest, as far as he was concerned the Autobot Wrecker had just tried to mutilate him. He looked towards the other Decepticon, who was abruptly gunned down by Doubletake as the Autobot cop emerged from the ditch nearby. Dragstrip made his decision then and quickly transformed, taking the shape of a purple Earth sports car before he sent his engines into high gear and wheels spinning, a thick cloud of sand erupting behind him.

Before Doubletake could take a shot at him, Dragstrip went tearing off through the valley. He fled the battlefield like any coward, the odds turned against him, his advantage of numbers and firepower gone. Wheeljack could only smile as he watched the Decepticon flee. He rose to his feet and sheathed his sword, looking over to Doubletake as he did so. The Autobot cop appeared to be about to give chase, but Wheeljack stepped in front of him.

"Don't bother," he said.

"You want him to get away?" Doubletake raised an optic ridge. Even he knew Wheeljack was not one to let an enemy slip away if the chance to stop them was there.

"Trust me," Wheeljack replied. "He'll lead us straight to his friends. Then we'll kill the lot of them." He maintained his smile, although Doubletake remained unconvinced. Nonetheless, he did not give chase after Dragstrip. Instead, he looked out over the battlefield and at the five dead Decepticons lying about. Wheeljack followed his gaze and knew exactly what he would do next.

He made his way to the nearest dead Decepticon and gave him a once-over, stripping him of the three grenades he had been carrying at the waist. As for the onboard weapons, removing those would be a more complicated affair. By the look of it, there were three side-arms, one rifle that Skystreaker now carried and a sort of fusion cannon that had been dropped by the Decepticon squad. Several grenades were in the mix as well. As for the normal energy cannons some of them carried, they were all contained within their arms and harder to remove. Wheeljack took up the fusion cannon; it was a long bulky thing with an air-cooled barrel, hence the small holes along its length. The power pack was close to fully charged, so he would at least gain some use out of it before it would need a recharge. He put the weapon at his back, held in place by a set of magnetic clips.

Skystreaker came down from the top of the ridge, clasping the heavy rifle in her hands. She had a satisfied smirk on her face. Apparently she found the fighting as exciting as Wheeljack did.

"Was that fun or what?" She asked. Doubletake kept a straight face and said nothing. Wheeljack, on the other hand, smiled back at her.

"You were actually helpful for once," he said. Skystreaker rolled her optics upon hearing this.

"I actually had a gun this time around."

"That's no excuse," Wheeljack countered. "I've killed 'Cons with my bare hands. Guns simplify things, sure, but sometimes I feel like they lack that personal touch..."

Doubletake was looking off to his left now, his face changing into a grave expression.

"Hey, you two," he interrupted. He pointed down the valley. "We've got company."

"Cons?" Wheeljack asked, impulsively. He followed Doubletake's gaze and saw the familiar yellow and black figure striding towards them. It was immediately apparent that this new arrival was not a Decepticon. However, there was something not quite right here: the figure was dragging someone else along the ground behind them with one arm. Wheeljack realised then that this familiar Autobot only had his left arm, for his right had been reduced to a stump just after the elbow.

"Bumblebee," he said. He did not wait for Skystreaker or Doubletake to react and instead started running towards the yellow Autobot. As he closed the distance, he could see that Bumblebee was a mess. His body was marred with gashes and dents, with some hasty patchwork done over some of the more serious wounds. Energon stains streaked his form. His posture was slightly hunched, his exhaustion apparent in the sluggish movements he took. As Wheeljack neared, Bumblebee stopped moving and let go of the familiar red and silver arm he had been holding onto. The red figure, similarly dented and gashed, lay still on the dirt behind him.

"Bumblebee," Wheeljack said again, relieved to see he was at least alive. "What the hell happened?" He felt awkward at that point, for he was not sure just what to ask and whether or not anything he said would be adequate anyway. Bumblebee looked like he had gone through hell and back, and he likely had needed to in order to get here.

Bumblebee took one look at Wheeljack, his large blue optics filled with weariness. He took a step forwards, only to lose his balance, his legs failing underneath his weight. Wheeljack stepped forwards and caught him, holding him steady with both arms as Bumblebee fell to his knees. He knelt down with him, looking him in the optics as he moved.

"What's happened?" Wheeljack asked. Behind him, both Doubletake and Skystreaker came running up to him. Bumblebee hardly gave them a second glance. "What did Cyclonus do to you?"

"Not just Cyclonus," Bumblebee finally croaked. "There is someone else. An Autobot."

"What?" Wheeljack frowned. Maybe Bumblebee was simply dazed? He had obviously been through a lot. Far more than any one Autobot should have. It should be no surprise that he might say some things that did not make much sense.

"Star Saber." Bumblebee spoke the name and then turned his head, looking back at the red and silver Cybertronian he had literally dragged along with him. Wheeljack did the same, gazing down at the familiar figure lying upon the sand, the red optics devoid of light.

"Knock Out," Wheeljack said. He let go of Bumblebee, who remained on his knees, while Doubletake walked by the pair and knelt by Knock Out. The former Decepticon had a double-pronged blade stuck in his chest, forming only the tip of a longer staff weapon. Though he had never liked Knock Out much, if only because of his previous Decepticon allegiance and irritating personality, there was still a pang of regret in Wheeljack's spark upon seeing him like this. Doubletake took one look at him and shook his head, chewing thoughtfully on the emergency flare he had been keeping in his mouth since yesterday, doing so in the same sort of way a human may chew absently on a toothpick.

"Who's 'Star Saber'?" Wheeljack asked, returning his attention to Bumblebee. "I mean, we used to have a 'star saber', like the big sword..."

"No. This 'Star Saber' is an Autobot. He's working with Cyclonus." Bumblebee, for what little strength he still had, seemed determined to tell what he knew. "He's the one who killed Knock Out."

Wheeljack clenched his jaw. Traitors were something he hated a great deal. That may have played somewhat into how he had felt about Knock Out upon first hearing of his defection to the Autobot cause, as though the doctor had turned to his side, he was still a 'traitor' and as such could not be trusted. Over the years, Knock Out had proven that he was genuine, even if Wheeljack knew he could never completely trust him.

As for an Autobot working with the Decepticons? That was, in a word, disgusting. The sheer principle of an Autobot turning against their own kind sickened Wheeljack through to the spark. Someone like that was beneath mere contempt. He could see Decepticons betraying each other, they had always squabbled amongst themselves in attempts to rise through the ranks. But an Autobot? That was rare, and those who turned against their own were never treated well if they were ever caught. Optimus Prime had ordered during the war that any traitors captured be given a chance in a fair trial, but the Prime could not be everywhere at once. If regular Autobot soldiers got hold of a traitor in the wake of a battle, a rare event certainly, but when it did occur then the traitor in question was usually killed brutally.

"We should leave," Skystreaker suggested. "More of Cyclonus' Decepticons could be on their way."

"She's right," Doubletake said. He stood up and moved to Bumblebee's side. He placed a reassuring hand to the Autobot's shoulder. "We can't give your friend a proper burial. That would take too long." He did his best to sound understanding, yet even Wheeljack could tell that he was not very good at it.

Wheeljack rose to his feet and walked to where Knock Out lay. He grasped the staff protruding from his chest and pulled, carefully freeing the two-pronged bladed end. A jagged pair of deep gashes had been left in their place. He examined the staff weapon, weighing it in both hands. It was surprisingly light, comprised of a gleaming silver metal. From what he could feel, it was also weighted properly for throwing.

"We'll bury him," Wheeljack stated. Doubletake looked at him, his optics narrowed.

"There's no time..."

"I said, _we'll bury him_." Wheeljack kept the staff in one hand, holding it off to the side. He shot Doubletake a harsh look, one that more or less told him that he had no say in the matter. "We're not like the 'Cons, Doubletake. We don't just leave our dead out in the desert to rust and weather away." He then grabbed the tip of the spear, tearing the double-pronged tip away before dropping the rest of the weapon. The sharp blades were still stained with Knock Out's energon. Despite this, he figured the spear-head would make a decent close-quarters weapon.

Doubletake said nothing more on the matter. Skystreaker appeared sullen, the mood amongst the group having soured abruptly. Wheeljack looked down at Bumblebee and held out a hand.

"Get up. We'll get started."


	29. Safehouse

**Safehouse**

Unit-E, being a sub-branch of the Defence Intelligence Agency that Agent Fowler had worked for prior to his demise, was an organization that had, as a contingency, put together a number of 'safe-houses' across the nation. The original Unit-E base, outside of Jasper, Nevada, had been destroyed in an attack carried out by Megatron and his Decepticon forces about a decade ago. As a result, the Autobots and their human allies had taken to operating out of a hangar in Area 51, otherwise known as 'Dreamland'. Up until yesterday, that place had been Unit-E's headquarters. Now, what remained of the organization was scattered across the nation and very few of these safehouses, or 'replacement operating centres', were active in any significant fashion.

It had started raining in Carson City. A light shower, though the thick grey clouds overhead indicated it may increase in intensity at some later point in the day. In the northern section of the city, where the density of houses and other buildings thinned out until the desert properly reclaimed the land, were some more isolated properties. It was here that Ultra Magnus found himself, once again taxiing around Jack and Rafael. He was followed by Wildstrike, who in turn was followed by Deadeye, the pair spreading out across the vacant lot up ahead while Ultra Magnus moved to the grey warehouse further down the mostly empty road. As far as the Autobot Commander could tell, there appeared to be no one here. Only one car was parked on the street, outside a small house that was across from the warehouse. Even as he came to a halt, he felt that he was being watched, and not from the warehouse either. The sign out the front of the property indicated it as belonging to a branch of the Department of Health and Human Services. Rafael was quick to point out the lie behind that.

"This is it," he said. "One of Unit-E's fallback positions if Area 51 was ever compromised."

"There's no one here," Jack replied. Ultra Magnus was already in the process of scanning for organics, humans in particular. Aside from a stray cat that went running across the street, there appeared to be no one in the warehouse. The front gate was locked and the parking lot empty. Some distance behind them, further south, was the Carson City Airport. A light plane, mostly white in colour, was in the process of coming in for a landing upon the airport's single runway. Its twin engines droned audibly across the region.

"That doesn't matter," Rafael replied. "I just need to use the computers here."

"So we're breaking in?" Jack pushed open his side's door and Ultra Magnus swung open the other one. Both humans climbed out, stepping into the rain. A cool wind blew through the street, kicking up some paper litter from the gutter close by.

"Wildstrike and I will watch the perimeter," Ultra Magnus said. He pinged her comms, receiving a confirmation ping in reply. He spoke again, this time into his comms: "As for Deadeye, you keep an eye on the street. Alert us if you see anything suspicious."

Ultra Magnus started off the road, going around the warehouse perimeter. Naturally, it was fenced on all sides. Wildstrike went down the opposite side and the pair met up on the dirt road at the rear of the property. Beyond that were the open and mostly dry plains of Nevada, covered in some sporadic clusters of vegetation. The rain that currently fell would likely help to add some more greenery to the vista before them.

"Sir, I don't think there are any other humans around," she said. "I'd like to stretch my legs."

Ultra Magnus had scanned the warehouse and found nothing, so he figured that it was safe for the pair of them to transform. Deadeye would keep watch out the front and though he did not have his guns with him, he would be sure to chime in over their comms and alert them to any new arrivals in the area.

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," Ultra Magnus said. "Just stay off the street when in biped form." He transformed at the same time she did, flexing his arms as he stood tall in robot mode. Wildstrike worked her knees a few times.

"You think they'll find anything, sir?" Wildstrike asked suddenly. Ultra Magnus assumed she was referring to their two human friends.

"Maybe. I hope they do. We've spent long enough as it is on the run. We need to catch some sort of break."

"This Taskforce is one thing. Decepticons are another. Could they be really working together?"

Ultra Magnus could only shrug. This was part of the reason why he hoped Jack and Rafael would be able to uncover some helpful information through their trip to the safe-house. At the moment, he knew very little as to why the events of the last forty-eight hours had occurred. He knew he was a fugitive on this world, he knew that Decepticons actively hunted him and that humans did the same through a belief that he and the others had killed their President, but beyond that? He actually knew very little. It irritated him a great deal. Going into combat uninformed and with bad intel was bound to cause disaster. So far, the last day or two had been a disaster in a very literal sense.

Ultra Magnus turned to head back to the eastern perimeter of the warehouse when he heard Wildstrike follow him. He turned around, seeing that she had quickly closed the distance between them.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" He asked. Rainwater was trickling down her frame, as it was on his own. He saw that she seemed sheepish all of a sudden, judging by the anxious smile that crossed her face.

"Sir, I know it may not be appropriate, but part of the reason I volunteered to come to Earth was to make sure you were safe," she explained. "I mean, I don't think I could have lived with myself if anything happened to you and I wasn't there to do something to stop it."

"What's inappropriate about that, Lieutenant? You do your duty and you do it well."

"I mean, Commander, that I was genuinely afraid for your safety. Not just in the 'fellow soldier' sense. But I mean, well...I mean..." She trailed off, struggling to form a cohesive sentence. Ultra Magnus found her sudden uncertainty somewhat amusing but he kept a straight face. He did not want her to feel uncomfortable, certainly not in their current situation. However, he had never seen Wildstrike quite like this before. She was normally confident, even headstrong. Perhaps too much so in some regards, so her anxiety now was certainly odd.

"Speak your mind, Lieutenant," Ultra Magnus said.

"It's inappropriate, sir," she said, looking up at him. "You're my superior officer. I never should have brought it up."

Ultra Magnus leaned his head forwards slightly, keeping his expression neutral. He did have a good idea as to what Wildstrike was trying to get at, but he felt it would be better if she got it out on her own time.

"Brought what up, exactly?"

Wildstrike clasped her hands together, unsure as to where else to place them.

"I have feelings for you, sir. I'll understand if it's not mutual..."

Ultra Magnus interrupted her by placing a hand to her shoulder. It was a reassuring gesture, a sincere one at that.

"Why are you bringing this up now?" He was simply curious. Wildstrike shrugged, uncertain of that herself.

"I've been keeping them bottled up for a while. I just didn't know what you'd think." She paused and their optics met. "Looks like you don't think much of them..." She appeared disappointed, if only fleetingly, before Ultra Magnus simply shook his head in response.

"No, no, Lieutenant. It's best this sort of thing is out in the open. Bottling it up inside doesn't do you any good." He paused, giving himself a moment to consider his response. He would be lying to himself if he did not admit that he felt something for her. Such personal feelings he had often brushed aside, instead setting his mind firmly upon the tasks at hand, and there were many for someone in his position. "There isn't a lot of time for something like this for me. I have a lot of important work I have to do. But I'd be lying if I said the feeling wasn't mutual. It is, Wildstrike. We've been working together for some time now, you've always had my back and it looks like that isn't about to change anytime soon." He took his hand from her shoulder and grabbed both of hers in his own. His bulkier hands cradled her slimmer ones gently. She smirked at him, although she did appear relieved that her spilling her spark out to him had not backfired.

"What now, sir?" She asked, half-jokingly. "I mean, I was almost expecting you to tell me to 'stow it'..."

"We can't do much about it now," Ultra Magnus said. "We get through this, and maybe we can arrange something when we get back to Cybertron."

"Arrange what?"

Ultra Magnus cracked a smile then, the first one in a long while.

"What do you think?"

* * *

Jack came to the gate of the compound, a solid metal one with a large padlock in the centre, keeping both halves of the gate firmly closed. By now, the rain had started in earnest, a light spitting at most. He did not fancy getting caught out in the rain, yet it appeared that getting into the Unit-E safehouse would be tricky. The whole place was very obviously deserted, at least from outside. He did notice a surveillance camera over the gate on the left, one that had sight of the entire driveway. Rafael stood nearby and he lightly rattled one half of the gate. There would be no budging it. As for climbing over, Jack figured that the rolls of barbed wire atop the perimeter fence would make that a painful affair.

"Looks like nobody's home," Rafael said. He looked through the gaps at the gate, surveying the front of the large warehouse. "There are no cars, no guards, nothing."

"You sure this is the right address?" Jack, as he asked this question, glanced over to the sign by the gate. 'Department of Health and Human Services' it read, and underneath: 'Closed For Renovations. For Inquiries, Call 1800 555 777'. This was likely just a front and a quick glance would reveal that there were no renovations going on, at least none on the outside. Jack may have called the number, had he had his phone on him. Thinking about it, he realised that calling the number would likely redirect him to the real Department of Health and Human Servcies, not Unit-E and certainly not the Defence Intelligence Agency that had been in charge of it.

"I'm sure," Rafael replied. He turned to face Jack. "If I wasn't sure, I'd never have got us to come here."

"What do you think? There'll be the computers you need inside?"

"Probably."

"So we break in." Jack looked over to Deadeye, who was parked in his vehicle form further down the street. "We get one of the Autobots to break this gate open. Then, we walk on in and get what we need."

"And you'll probably bring the local police down on us, at least,' Rafael countered. "If this place is empty, there'll be security systems switched on. We could trip something and sound an alarm at some faraway compound. Then your Taskforce will know we've come here."

"It's not 'my' Taskforce," Jack said. He did not try to hide his annoyance. "They've tried to kill me more than once already."

"You worked with them for six months, Jack," Rafael said. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze a scrutinising one. "Did you not notice anything suspicious with them?"

"You think they'd let me in on the 'suspicious' stuff?" Jack did not like Rafael's accusatory tone. It had been subtle, but it was there, he was sure of it. "I didn't think they'd try to kill me, if that's what you're wondering. They were perfectly legitimate. They still kind of are, they just want to kill us. And that's half the problem, because they've got the authority and the support to do just that. But I didn't see anything immediately strange. If I did, do you think I'd have stayed with them? I'd spill the beans on the whole thing. And that's what we have to do now." It was an idea that had only recently developed, one that might lead to more chaos but it was his best bet to rectify the situation that he, Rafael and the Autobots had fallen into.

"We expose the Taskforce. We expose their lies about the Autobots. We expose the sort of black ops stuff they've got going." Jack knew it sounded crazy. The Taskforce had gone to significant lengths to keep its operations secret, relying on benefactors in the government to pay the bills required to cover up a mission that may have happened in a public space.

"You think that'll be enough?" Rafael sounded unconvinced, but neither he nor Jack had any better ideas.

"It'll be a start."

"Won't that just cause more trouble?"

It was a valid question. As much as Jack would have preferred clearing his name in a manner not as blunt, he had since reached the point where he was willing to go to whatever lengths to see the Taskforce and their Decepticon allies get brought down. Exposing them to the general public would be a good start.

"Maybe. But we won't be able to do anything unless we have some hard evidence. That's what you'll get off the computers, Raf. Actual hard evidence we can pass on to the media. And we'll dig up whatever information we can about what they're doing, about what Colonel Carver's planning, anything that'll give us an edge."

"I don't know about this, Jack," Rafael said. His voice was laced with uncertainty. "We've got to be careful. This could blow up in our faces..."

"It already has," Jack interjected. "They burned your house down, Raf. They killed Fowler. They've got Miko and I don't know where they've taken her. If that isn't 'blown up' then I don't know what is." He could not contain the passion he felt regarding the matter, his tone becoming increasingly frustrated as he spoke. "They've smeared our names, they've killed the President. I still don't believe Bumblebee did that. Do you?"

Rafael shook his head.

"And we'll find out who really did it."

Before Jack could add anything more, the sound of a phone ringing interrupted the conversation. It was coming from somewhere further down the street, at a phone booth about fifty metres away, right at the end of the road. Here, there was a dead-end and a ditch overgrown with dry grass. Paper litter and a rusted washing machine had been dumped there, along with numerous empty cans and bottles of booze. Jack looked to the phone and then to Rafael. The pair exchanged bemused looks while the phone continued to ring, over and over again. Finally, Jack mustered up the courage to turn in the phone booth's direction and start walking towards it.

"Jack, are you sure...?" Rafael trailed off as Jack strode away. His question unanswered, Rafael quickly followed after him.

Jack came to the phone booth, where the phone continued to ring. There was no one else on the street save for them. A few houses were across the road, but they appeared to be deserted.

He entered the phone booth and somewhat gingerly grasped the phone, pulling it from its housing before placing it to its ear. As one would expect, there was a fair amount of crude graffiti scrawled about within the phone booth. No surface here was clean either, with dirt clinging to most.

"Hello?" Jack said. He could hear some heavy breathing on the other end. He half-expected the caller to hang up at that moment. However, they did quite the opposite.

_"You want in on the warehouse?"_ The voice asked. It was a man's voice, deep but rough-edged. Stern, authoritative.

"Who is this?"

_"I'm asking the questions here."_ The voice took on a no-nonsense tone. He apparently did not want to waste time. _"Now turn around. To your right."_

Jack glanced at Rafael, who was standing just outside the phone booth. Rafael simply shrugged and Jack turned to his right, facing the houses across the street.

_"I thought it was you, Darby."_

"How do you know who I am?" Jack frowned. He hated being in the dark like this. The caller had an advantage over him and was most certainly watching him now, maybe with a rifle pointed right at his chest. He might even have been in any one of the three houses across the street.

_"Come to the front door. The house in the middle. Approach with your hands up. I'm not taking any chances."_

The caller hung up then, abruptly ending the exchange. Jack placed the phone back upon its housing and turned to Rafael.

"Did you hear that?" He asked. Rafael nodded in the affirmative. "We might have a friend. Or a whack-job. Either one will do."

"You really just going to go along with what he says?"

"You have a better idea?" Jack asked. "I'll take my chances. Just get Deadeye up here."

Rafael nodded before he turned and started to walk away, heading for where Deadeye was parked. Jack began heading for the house in the middle; it was a small, mostly brown brick-and-mortar home. The front lawn was overgrown and the shrubs along the edges had long since gone well out of control. The curtains was drawn across all the windows, although as Jack crossed the street he thought he saw one of them waving slightly, as if someone had been peering through before quickly backing off.

Jack made his way along the cracked, disjointed footpath that lead down the middle of the front lawn and to the steps before the front door. He raised his hands as he had been told, able to feel his .38 revolver sitting snugly under his shirt at his belt. It was in easy enough reach, although its shape was visible with the way his shirt clung tightly to his stomach. Hopefully the mystery caller would not take him being armed too negatively.

The front door swung open as Jack approached. A tall and broad-shouldered African-American man in grey trousers and a blue shirt appeared in the doorway. He had a chrome-plated pump-action shotgun clasped in his hands. He had a thick black moustache under his nose and a stern expression on his face. His dark brown eyes fell upon Jack as the younger man stopped a few metres before the door.

"Where's your friend?" The man asked.

Jack looked back to find Rafael come walking into view, followed by Deadeye who remained in vehicle mode. The man with the shotgun gave the car an extended gaze.

"How many you got with you?" He asked.

"What?"

"Cybertronians. How many you got with you?"

"Three. There are more elsewhere..."

The man motioned to him with one hand.

"Just come in. Your friend as well."

Jack shook his head. The man glared at him with noticeable hostility.

"Hang on a minute. I'm not just going to walk into a stranger's house. Especially into the house of a stranger with a gun."

"I ain't gonna kill you." The man used one hand to fish around in a pocket on his shirt. He pulled out an ID, a Unit-E one at that, and he stepped forwards and handed it to Jack so he could take a close look. "I'm on your side. Current circumstances have encouraged me to take extra precautions."

Jack examined the ID. The man's name was Jacob Williams.

Jack handed it back to him, feeling significant relief as he did so. As long as this was not some kind of sophisticated trick (and one could not be too careful), Jack could feel somewhat safe here. They had come looking for a Unit-E safehouse and they had apparently found one, just not the one they had been expecting.

"How much do you know about what's going on?" Jack asked.

"Enough." Williams again motioned for him to come into the house. "I even got a call last night telling me to shut everything down."

"Did you?"

"In my own way. Now come inside and we can talk."

Williams disappeared back into the house. Jack exchanged glances with Rafael once more.

"You think we can trust him?" Rafael asked.

"Who can we trust?" Jack was having a hard time bringing himself to trust anyone anymore. The Taskforce had betrayed him and anyone they met could easily inform on them. That was the problem with being a fugitive. In the end, the only people you could trust was yourself, and your fellow fugitives.

_"Hey, you two,"_ Deadeye called from the street. _"What about me?"_

"Keep guard out here. And if you hear shouting, don't be afraid to smash your way into the house." With that, Jack followed Williams into his home, with Rafael a short distance behind. Hopefully, Williams would actually prove helpful and maybe, for once, they would be able to shed some light on the situation.

* * *

The house was fairly small, a modest affair at most, filled with a fairly dusty smell. As for dust itself, there was a healthy layer of it on most visible surfaces. The front door opened directly onto a narrow hallway that ran the length of the building, with an open doorway on the left leading into a living room and another door on the right opening onto the kitchen. With all the curtains drawn, the house's interior was fairly dark. Jack found that it felt practically cosy, although he would have preferred it to be tidier. There was clutter here and there, papers and such scattered about. The television in the living room was switched on and several DVD cases were stacked near it. A significantly younger Clint Eastwood was currently on-screen as the film _Magnum Force_ came to an end.

Williams closed the front door and moved into the living room. He switched off the television before retrieving a carton of cigarettes from the table by the sofa. He pulled out one, stuck it in his mouth and picked up a cheap plastic lighter from the same table. Jack followed him into the living room, unsure of what to make of the place now, especially with the stench of tobacco stuck to everything.

"You need my help," Williams said, turning to face Jack. He lit the end of his cigarette, stowing the carton and lighter in a pocket at his trousers.

"Can you give it?"

"Maybe. That depends on what you want."

"We need the computers that are in that safehouse." Jack figured it would be best to get straight to business.

"That's all?" Williams raised an eyebrow.

"They'd be powerful enough for Rafael to get into the Taskforce's systems. We need to find out where they're located." He paused for a moment, some nagging questions coming to mind. "Are you the only one here?"

"I've been the only one here for a while," Williams replied. "The safehouse doesn't get much use. And like I said, last night I got a call from someone telling me to shut the place down. It was on pretty short notice."

"Did they say who they were?"

"No. They gave the proper clearance codes, but no names." Williams puffed on his cigarette, letting smoke waft forth before it faded as it neared the ceiling. "They were probably from the Taskforce. I've heard about those guys, through the grapevine. Black ops. The sort of people you don't want to mess with."

"They're trying to kill us," Jack said. "Me, Rafael, the Autobots. They even killed Fowler."

Williams frowned when he heard this.

"They killed him?" He did not sound surprised. "Shit, and I thought you two would get it first."

"What do you mean?" Jack could not help but sound somewhat offended at the remark. Williams only scowled and took a step forwards, nearing Jack. They stood at about the same height, yet nonetheless Williams made for an imposing figure.

"Look at you. I doubt you've ever had to fire a shot in anger." He kept the cigarette in his mouth, the tip letting forth a small puff of smoke that floated across Jack's face. The smoke at this proximity was enough to sting his eyes.

"I've had to do just that in the last twenty-four hours," Jack replied. He stood his ground and kept a straight-face. Williams was likely just weighing him up, trying to figure out whether he was worth helping or not. By harbouring him here, he was already aiding a fugitive. He could very easily pick up the phone and tip off the authorities if he wanted to, although in that case the Autobots would be beating that door down before he could finish dialling their phone number. "I've fought tougher opponents. I've gone up against _Decepticons._"

"Don't get cocky," Williams countered. "The Taskforce is black ops. That means they're the real deal. They'll kill you and anyone else who gets in their way, and they'll have the resources to cover it all up."

"Unit-E could do the same, if it wanted."

"Unit-E doesn't exist anymore. The whole thing's been shutdown. I suppose you missed out on that memo?" Williams sounded as if his patience was wearing thin. He did not come across as a particularly welcoming individual. Regardless, he had taken Jack and Rafael in, so there was likely some desire to help them buried underneath his hardened demeanour. "The Taskforce were the ones that called me last night, as you'd expect. I heard from someone over at Dreamland that they came in and took all the computers, all the hard drives and any interesting bits of alien technology from the base last night. They're likely going to do that here today."

Jack looked over to Rafael, who was standing by the couch nearby.

"Sounds like they're cleaning house," he said.

"Unit-E was always the diplomatic arm." Williams walked over to the doorway, puffing again on his cigarette. "And the Taskforce, from what I've heard, has no interest in diplomacy. If they could, they'd probably take the fight to Cybertron." He looked back at Jack before he nodded towards the corridor outside. "If you really want to take them on, you're going to need a lot more than that pea-shooter." He looked down at the .38 revolver Jack had tucked into his belt, partially visible through his shirt.

"We have the Autobots," Jack replied.

"Maybe. But you're still going to need something you yourself can rely on. You can't hope that the Autobots are going to be there for you the whole time."

There was a brief pause. Jack considered what had been said and nodded in agreement. As much as he liked them, he knew that Williams had a point: he could not rely on the Autobots, not when they would likely be fighting whatever Decepticon allies the Taskforce had gained for themselves. And even he knew that the one snub-nose revolver would not be much help if he was attacked by an entire squad of Taskforce operatives.

"You said you want to find out where they operate from?" Judging from the way he had his eyebrows raised, Williams must have found this idea somewhat reckless. "That sounds like you're planning a frontal assault."

"Like I said, we have the Autobots."

Williams nodded. He left the room then without saying anything more. Jack glanced over at Rafael, who had been standing nearby and listening carefully. He shrugged, unsure of what to make of the man.

"He seems _nice_, I guess."

"His job must have been easier than mine," Jack noted. He stepped out into the corridor, watching as further ahead, Williams opened a door. He stopped by it and motioned to Jack to come over. He did so, with Rafael following closely.

The door had opened onto a stairwell leading into the basement. Even from up here, Jack could make out a number of cables snaking across the cement floor. Williams started walking down the stairs and Jack fell into step behind him, with Rafael tailing along at the rear. The basement was large, but cluttered, giving the impression that it was smaller and more claustrophobic than it may have once been. There were a number of computers down here, haphazardly set up on tables, often with cables strewn across them and interweaving. This created fairly tangled messes in some places. There were about four monitors and a few server 'towers'. A metal door was at the far end, partially open, with cables snaking through the gap along the floor. Jack realised then that this house was actually part of the Unit-E warehouse across the street, just not in a conventional sense.

There were a few light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. They cast fairly subdued yellowish glows over everything. The air conditioner units in the walls were on full blast, the whooshing noise of cool air the loudest in the basement. Blue and yellow lights pulsed from the computer monitors, some flickering, casting sporadic and uneven shadows upon the walls.

"What kind of setup is this?" Jack asked.

"It's a 'safehouse'," Williams replied, the answer barely helpful. "The warehouse would be where the Autobots hang out. Down here is where the main work would get done. After the destruction of the original base outside of Jasper, Fowler had this place made the way it is. The obvious target being the big warehouse across the street. Since the place over in Area 51 never got completely dismantled, this safehouse has never seen real use."

"What do you do all day?"

"I'm only here three days a week. Custodial duties, mostly." Williams walked over to a large metal cabinet by the wall. He pulled a key from one pocket and jammed it into the lock, turning it as to open the creaky metal doors. Inside were several large black bags, one of which Williams pulled out. It must have been heavy, given the strained look he wore on his face as he hefted it towards the nearest table and slammed it upon its top. He unzipped the bag and rolled it over, spilling out the assortment of guns and ammunition contained within.

"Can't have a safehouse without some means of self-defence," Williams commented, taking note of Jack's surprised gaze as the armoury spread itself across the table. "It wouldn't really be a 'safe' house then, would it?" If this was a joke, he did not smile, even with the snarky tone he said it in.

"Are these computers networked?" Rafael asked. He had already made his way to the nearest one and had pulled the chair out from before it. Seating himself down, he watched the data feed of yellow text upon a blue background, trying to make sense of it.

"They've got all the connections you'd expect for a Unit-E computer. DIA, DOD, CIA, NSA, the whole lot. From there, you could probably work your way into the Taskforce mainframe." Williams explained all this matter-of-factly. "They'll trace you, of course."

"They will?" Jack frowned. He had already been forced to make multiple escapes from the Taskforce. He had no desire of running away again. The whole idea of coming here was to get the means to take the fight to them.

"Depending on how competent your friend here is at hacking," Williams added. "As soon as you breach their mainframe they'll be onto you. You'll likely have ten minutes before they come rushing out here. Just don't take me word on that. I ain't an expert." He gestured to the guns that he had spread across the table. "And if you're going to launch that frontal assault, you're going to want to pick out some kind of arsenal for yourself."

"Why would you help us?" Jack asked. "There's not much in it for you. Unit-E's finished, like you said. That means you and I have no jobs."

"You need my help. You're in a bad spot. And my daddy always told me to lend a helping hand to those who need it. I'm not about to turn you guys away." He took the cigarette from his mouth then, dropping it to the concrete floor where he crushed it under one shoe.

"You think the Autobots killed the President?" It was an honest question. The fact that this was the narrative being pushed by the media made it even more so.

"I don't think so," Williams replied. He was blunt in his response, apparently this was normal for him. "I certainly don't think you two were involved. And the fact that the Taskforce killed Fowler? I ain't going to stand for that. If helping you and the Autobots can screw over the Taskforce, I'll gladly give you what you need."

Rafael had started tapping away at the keyboard of the computer he was sitting at. The display changed as he switched it to a fairly ordinary looking Internet browser. It appeared that he was getting straight to work. Hard evidence was what they needed, that way they could blow the lid on the Taskforce and hopefully prove that the Autobots, and the two of them, were innocent in regards to the President's assassination.

"You said they'll trace us?" Jack asked.

"It might take them a while," Williams said. "If your friend's good, it'll take them even longer."

Jack regarded the pistols, submachine guns and the semi-automatic shotgun that had been spread across the table in front of him. He took the shotgun, a Benelli 'Super 90', otherwise designated the 'M1014'. Williams went and got another bag from the cabinet, this one full of ammunition.

"Will you come with us?" Jack extended the retractable stockon the shotgun. Grabbing a handful of twelve gauge shells, he began to slide them into the weapon's magazine tube one at a time. "We could use the extra help."

Williams appeared to consider the possibility, if only momentarily, before he shook his head.

"I'm going to go my own way," he said. "There are others like me. Plenty of Unit-E operatives who are recently out of a job. They might help out. I'll be sure to leave a few surprises around here for any Taskforce guys who show up." He smiled, and though the implication here was clear, that he would likely leave some harm-inflicting devices around here if the Taskforce made an appearance, Jack found himself smiling in return. Had he finally become a killer? Taking delight in violence against his enemies was not something he wanted to make a habit of, but these people were out to get him and his friends. They had taken Miko and they had killed Fowler, and for that he would do whatever he had to in order to get back at them.

"What's your endgame?" The question broke Jack's train of thought abruptly. Williams was watching him, a stolid look on his face, his eyes watching him carefully.

"My endgame?"

"Yeah."

Jack had not given this matter detailed thought. He had ideas, but no real 'plans'.

"Expose them. The Taskforce. Get proof that the Autobots didn't kill the President. Clear my name and Rafael's. Find answers about why they did all of this."

"Sounds reasonable," Williams said. "And I hope you do it all. But I bet, and it's just a hunch, that what you're in right now, it's a lot bigger. There's more at stake here than your names, or the wellbeing of your Autobot friends."

"You're probably right," Jack replied. "But as for the bigger picture, I haven't much to go on. If the Taskforce setup the President's assassination, then what would they achieve from that? Except inciting fear?"

"What better way to keep a population under control?"

That suggestion did get Jack thinking. So far the Autobots had been painted as villains to the public, in the disclosure of their existence. What could the Taskforce gain from that? It would certainly make hunting them down easier. People would actually _want_ them to do it.

"But like I said, there's more than that. And that's all the more reason to help out." Williams fished a pair of hand grenades out of the bag. "Where do you think I should put these?"


	30. Reverie

**Reverie**

"What do we do now?"

Skystreaker was the one to ask this. Wheeljack's attention was abruptly diverted to her, his optics watching her as she stepped into view on his right. He, Skystreaker, Doubletake and Bumblebee were some ways from the desert valley. On a quiet hilltop, one that overlooked much of the surrounding desert, they had dug a hole and left Knock Out's battered frame within it before piling dirt and rocks upon it. A fairly makeshift grave site, but an effective one nonetheless, marked by a small cairn of rocks. Wheeljack wondered if this is how Knock Out had ever seen himself going, buried on an alien world far from home. It was unlikely, and such a thought only caused Wheeljack to be reminded of his own mortality.

He remembered what Knock Out had said to him, on Cybertron shortly before they had left for Earth on what had turned into a very ill-fated visit. Knock Out had asked him about "settling down", whether he wanted a family even. He had questioned as to whether or not a life in peacetime was something Wheeljack could ever adjust to. Back then, he had not been entirely sure of the answer, but now, looking at Knock Out's grave, he knew what to say. It was simply too late to tell Knock Out.

_I'll never be able to adjust,_ he thought. _I'll never be able to "settle down". The war's still going, it just ain't as big as it used to be. And I'll get the one who did this to you, Knock Out. You were a pain in the aft, but a useful one._

"What do we do?" Bumblebee stood nearby, perhaps the most crestfallen within the group.

"What do you think we do? We meet up with the other Autobots and we take the fight to Cyclonus. And Star Saber. _Especially_ Star Saber." Wheeljack stated all of this intently, as he looked upon Knock Out's grave.

"We don't know where their ship is," Doubletake said. He stood across the grave from Wheeljack. Despite him having hardly known Knock Out, he had helped a great deal in digging out the grave. "If you have any idea where, Bumblebee..."

"That's just it. I don't know. I was inside it the whole time but I _don't know_ _where it was_." Bumblebee sounded frustrated. Wheeljack could understand it, as he was feeling something similar himself. Skystreaker's blasé attitude was not helping his mood much, either. She was in the group for purely selfish reasons, he had known this since the beginning, yet it still annoyed him a great deal. She had helped out during the fight, but once that had finished she had reverted to her increasingly annoying smart-ass demeanour.

"Hopefully Dragstrip will lead us to it," Wheeljack said. He checked his own scanners then, seeing that the Decepticon in question was still driving down a desert highway, likely in a panic. Bumblebee had told them that he had destroyed the ground bridge controls on their ship, so there was a good chance Dragstrip was on his way to some sort of rendezvous point. Going after him now may lead him to realise he was being traced, so Wheeljack hung back as did the others, waiting for him to go aboard Cyclonus' ship.

"Until he does, we're sort of stuck," Doubletake said.

"What about Magnus? We should regroup with him. He's with Jack and the others." Wheeljack had not received word from Ultra Magnus for a while, nor had anyone else here for that matter. Something important must have come up, that or the Autobot Commander was simply being careful as to avoid getting possibly traced if he activated his comms. _Or maybe he was dead,_ Wheeljack thought grimly.

"We can't just stay here," Bumblebee said. From his passionate tone, it was apparent he wanted to get at them. To tear apart any Decepticons they encountered. "I'll follow Dragstrip. See where he goes."

"Last time you followed a 'Con, you got captured," Wheeljack countered. Bumblebee shot him an annoyed glance. "We wait for Dragstrip to get back to the ship. Then we'll strike. I'm all for getting back at them for what happened to Knock Out, but even I think we gotta play it safe for now."

"I'll go by myself," Bumblebee replied.

"You could get caught," Doubletake said. The sunlight through the clouds was subdued, but nonetheless it gleamed off of his silver armour. Unlike Wheeljack and Bumblebee, Doubletake's form lacked many of the scorch marks and dents that the other two Autobots had gained during their brief stay on Earth. "That'd jeopardise our chances. If Dragstrip even thinks he's being followed, he won't go back to the ship. He could lead you on a chase halfway across the country." The Autobot cop looked to Bumblebee, his optics narrowed. "You can't let your desire for revenge impair your judgement. It could get you killed, sure, but it could get everyone else here killed if they get you alive."

Wheeljack clasped his hands together, brushing the dirt off of them as best he could. A silence fell across the group, a somewhat awkward one that spoke volumes of the sort of relationships that were between each of them. Wheeljack would have normally agreed with Bumblebee and would have gone racing off after Dragstrip with him, had it been nine years ago. Now, he found his thinking fell more in line with that of Doubletake; charging headlong in this particular situation would only make things worse.

"Hate to break it to you, yellow," Skystreaker said, ending the silence as she looked to Bumblebee with a condescending expression. "You've only got one arm. How do you expect to take on an army of Decepticons with just the one arm?"

Bumblebee scowled at her, his large blue optics flashing with hostility.

"I could probably take you on with one arm-"

"I'd like to see that." Skystreaker spoke with a smug smile. She was certainly very sure of herself, a quality Wheeljack could admire, if it was a quality delivered in measured doses. Right now, her smug attitude only enflamed Bumblebee's anger further. The yellow warrior stepped forwards, encroaching on her threateningly. Skystreaker responded by stepping towards him in turn, maintaining her smile as they stood eye-to-eye.

Wheeljack walked forwards and forced his arms between the two of them, forcing them apart several inches.

"Save it for the bad guys," Wheeljack said. Bumblebee took a step back, his agitation blatant. As for Skystreaker, she turned to Wheeljack and reached out one hand, tenderly tracing her fingers across his chest, right over his spark chamber. That was a fairly intimate touch, one that not many would do in the sight of others.

"Jackie, I didn't know you had such blow-hards as friends," she said. Bumblebee huffed audibly when he heard this. Wheeljack clasped the hand she had at his chest with one of his own and drew it away from him slowly.

"I'd fight and die for Bumblebee," Wheeljack said to her, firmly. "Who would you fight and die for?"

Skystreaker looked as if she were about to answer, but Wheeljack spoke again before she could.

"Other than yourself?" He asked.

Skystreaker said nothing. Her answer was obvious. As for Bumblebee and Doubletake, they were watching the pair carefully.

"I thought we were friends, Jackie," Skystreaker finally said, after a long pause. She sounded almost disappointed, although Wheeljack got the impression that the puppy-dog look in her optics was one she wore mockingly, not seriously. "You and I, together in this fight."

"We're friends? You don't do a good job of showing it."

"What? You've already forgotten about earlier?"

Wheeljack knew what she was referring to. He was already regretting it. Being reminded of that now, after what had happened with Knock Out, caused anger to flare up within him. He lunged forwards, clutching her by the neck with one hand. He threw her to the ground, more strongly than he had intended. The startled look in her red optics made the movement well worth it.

"Forgotten about what?" Bumblebee asked. Doubletake stepped to the pair and pushed Wheeljack off of Skystreaker. The Autobot Wrecker knew better than to lose control, but given the circumstances he was well at his wit's end.

"You're a selfish, Decepticon whore," Wheeljack said. His tone was level, his anger contained. He glared at Skystreaker, who lay on her back below. "You've been doing nothing but use us ever since you got here. The 'Cons want you dead, so you take advantage of Autobot hospitality instead. I don't care how good a fighter you are, you better show some _fucking_ _respect_. Not just to me, but everyone." Wheeljack felt Doubletake's hand on his shoulder and the Autobot cop gently guided him back up to standing.

"I need your help," Skystreaker said. She sat up and, surprisingly, actually sounded hurt. Wheeljack thought he may have been too harsh on her, that he had let his emotions take too much control of his actions. He had never been especially well-disciplined when it came to that sort of thing. "I've got no friends left in this galaxy."

"So you being an aft to everyone around you is your way of compensating?" As a rhetorical question, Wheeljack did not expect Skystreaker to reply. However, the answer he gave her was not the one he was expecting.

"You should take it easy," she said. She rose to her feet, her back now covered in brown dust. One of her hands drifted towards her chest armour. She looked to Doubletake and then to Bumblebee, all the while Wheeljack eyed her carefully. She was trailing the fingers of one hand over the armour that shielded her spark chamber in her chest. It was an anxious movement, a telltale sign that she was worried about more than was normal. "You know what? I'm going to go flying for a while. Maybe I'll come back once Jackie here has calmed down a little."

"You can't just leave..." Doubletake began, but he did not get to finish.

"Watch me," Skystreaker said. She transformed quickly into her jet form, the engines roaring into life before she turned herself around and blasted into the air. A gush of hot air slammed into the three Autobots standing nearby, causing them to stumble whilst a few of the rocks marking Knock Out's burial site fell out of place. Skystreaker was gone in seconds, becoming nothing more than a speck against the cloudy sky before she finally vanished into the clouds.

Bumblebee turned to Wheeljack, one optic ridge raised in a curious manner.

"Are you and her...?" He trailed off, not sure how he should put it.

"Hardly." Wheeljack thought this was an accurate response. He had only known Skystreaker for about two days. That was barely long enough to properly get to know someone, let alone turn what was a mere 'acquaintance' into something more, something that actually had meaning. Skystreaker had used him and his body just like she had been using the group in general, all for her own protection and her own amusement.

"Do you always attract the crazy ones?" Bumblebee asked. Wheeljack could not tell whether he meant this as a joke or not.

"I figure a mech attracts those females most like him," Doubletake commented. He wore a straight-face, as he so often did, save for the emergency flare he continued to carry between his metal teeth.

"And that's supposed to mean what?" Wheeljack knew exactly what it meant before he had finished asking the question. He knew his reputation, he knew what _he_ was like and he had had numerous others tell him what he was like in the past. Some would definitely call him "crazy". And he knew that he and Skystreaker shared many similarities, regarding general personality. Anyone with a working processor would see this.

"What if she gets caught?" Bumblebee asked. "She could blow the lid on the tracker in Dragstrip. Any chance of getting to Star Saber would be gone if that happened."

"Do you have wings, Bumblebee?" Wheeljack said this flatly. Skystreaker could have been going off to tell the Decepticons for all he knew. He still did not know where her true loyalties laid.

_They lie with her and her alone,_ he thought, absently. Much like he had been, after leaving the Wreckers. He had only ever trusted himself, maybe a fellow Wrecker on the off-chance he met one, but as for everyone else? They would have to do without his help. Even he knew he had changed since those times, just not completely. If he were in a pinch, the first individual he would rely on to get himself out of trouble would be himself. He could admire Skystreaker's independence, but much of the other aspects of her character were tolerable at best. And yet, he still felt some affinity for her. That was what made what she did all the more maddening.

"We can't trust her," Doubletake said, matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, we probably can't," Wheeljack replied. He turned to face the Autobot cop. "And that's why, whatever we're going to do next, we should do it quickly."

* * *

Star Saber had been expecting this kind of reaction from Cyclonus. The Decepticon General was angry, even through his expert control his anger flashed in his red optics and gave his stentorian voice a far more grating edge. Nonetheless, as for what Cyclonus was actually saying, Star Saber found either unimportant or uninteresting. Arguing with the Decepticon General was usually a tiresome affair.

"You sent a squad of _my_ soldiers out on a mission without notifying me," Cyclonus continued. The pair stood on the observation deck, before the vast window that looked out across the clouds the ship floated over. Somewhere far below was the continental United States. And somewhere down there, Star Saber knew, was the Seal of Nova Prime.

"And now the ground-bridge controls are ruined," Cyclonus said. "And two prisoners escaped. Those you sent on the ground haven't returned. What have you been doing, Star Saber?" His tone levelled out, his anger falling back within his complete control. Instead, he spoke with his usual authoritative tones. "Why do you undermine my authority?"

"Because your authority, General," Star Saber said, turning to face him, "Is inconsequential in the face of the authority I follow."

"Oh, and what authority is that?" Cyclonus narrowed his red optics. "Primus?"

"Not quite," Star Saber replied.

Cyclonus shook his head before he prodded a finger into Star Saber's chest, clanking metal upon metal.

"I should have you thrown off of this ship," he said.

"But you won't. Too many of your soldiers follow me." The confidence in his voice was warranted, as he knew what he said was true. So did Cyclonus. Of course, the Decepticon General did not appreciate it much.

"Your teachings are like a disease," Cyclonus countered. "Infecting the minds of my soldiers. This mission to acquire this 'Seal' is beginning to seem less and less worth the trouble."

"You'd do well to heed the prophecies contained within the Book of Nova Prime, General." He knew much of the book off by spark, particularly the portents it held for the future. "There is a warrior out there, as it is written, one of uneven spirit who would decide the fate of our species. I have searched for the Seal for far too long for someone like that to stop me. Perhaps that 'warrior' is you?" He raised one optic ridge inquiringly.

Cyclonus shook his head. For a moment, he looked as if he were about to lash out with some kind of strike against Star Saber, his hands clenching into fists. However, he unfurled them a moment later and simply turned around, storming out of the room with all the demeanour of a petulant adolescent. He was planning something, Star Saber knew this and Cyclonus would likely know he knew that he knew. It was almost a game between the two of them, where they tried to one-up each other in ways that were beginning to escalate. It was inevitable that soon enough, they would come to blows.

* * *

In the operations room at the 'Vault' facility, Carver had been waiting for a fair while as he watched the many displays on the wall ahead of him. There had been little news regarding the Autobots or their human friends for some time. Of course, he was a patient man, that was one thing someone in a job like this would need. Hunting down a pack of renegade aliens and their human allies would have its downtime. He did intend to see the matter taken care of within the next few days, preferably the next twenty-four hours even, that way he could focus on some other pressing matters that required his attention.

There were about three technicians in the room, headsets on whilst they worked at the computers. The main display on the wall ahead showed a map of the country and a number of blips and lines that denoted Taskforce operations. They had people all over the country, operating from places much like the compound in the desert that Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack had escaped from forty-eight hours previously.

Carver had been arranging the other details of his plan in the meantime. The public knew about the Cybertronians now, they also would have been told a fair bit already that they were an enemy to humanity in general. Autobots, Decepticons, it did not matter. There was an enemy out there, a powerful one, one that would incite fear into much of the general population. And an enemy like that could rally people to respond to it. The President was dead, the Vice President was strictly under Carver's thumb and much of the government in general was in disarray. Yet, from all the camera feeds they had in here of the streets outside, life went on as normal for many. That was the strange thing Carver had noticed about people; even with an alien threat and government infighting, some simply went about their usual business as if none of this was occurring. Shops were still open, the buses still ran and the passenger jets still flew. Las Vegas, some distance beyond the gates of the compound above, went on like it did every other day. It never stopped for anything, not even possible alien attack. Carver had a feeling this was more down to ignorance, or denial, rather than anything like 'courage'.

The phone on the table in front of him rang then, breaking his train of thought. He leaned forwards from his swivel chair and picked it up before placing it to his ear. For a moment, he listened to the voice on the other end, and then he nodded more so out of habit as he knew full well that the person on the other end could not see him.

"Yes, I'll be there. You can tell the Vice President that everything's going along as it should be. Our people are in position all over the country." He paused, letting the worried-sounding politician on the end of the line speak. However, he interrupted him, narrowing his eyes slightly: "The people will thank us, senator. This country needs a strong leader. Someone who will get things done, rather than be drowned underneath layers of bureaucracy. To put the people and the state above all else. We have a common enemy now, but we also have the means to fight them. Everything, Mr. Senator, will work out fine." He hung up the phone at that point, bored of the politician's unnecessary anxiety. Carver had been planning this for years. The Decepticons may have been a late addition to the proceedings, but they had been a convenient one. Once this was done, it would be Cyclonus and his Decepticon soldiers who would be the first victims of this nation's response to the alien terrorist attacks on its soil.

Carver sat back in his chair. He snatched a sheet of paper from the desk, one covered with lines of mostly irrelevant data. He scrunched it into a ball before turning to the dustbin in the far corner. With a sharp movement of the hand he sent it sailing through the air across the operations room, where it landed straight into the dustbin without any interference.

One of the technicians turned to him then, one hand to his headset.

"Colonel, one of our agents on the field has made a sighting on a known Decepticon," the technician announced.

"Which one?" Carver raised an eyebrow.

"Dragstrip, sir," the technician said. "He was sighted travelling down a highway not far from the city."

"Tell our agent to keep an eye on him." Carver sat back in his chair. "And to report anything noteworthy." They were aware of the identities of some of Cyclonus' chief Decepticons. Vortex, Shadowstriker, Dragstrip; they were ones to keep an eye on, where possible.

"There's something else, Colonel." One of the other technicians caught his attention then, a worried tone in his voice.

"What is it this time?" Carver leaned forwards as he spoke. "Autobot sighting? Because right now, I could do with actual news..."

"Someone's attempting to access our mainframe," the technician said, bluntly. Straight to the point, as Carver liked, though the news on offer was immediately cause for concern. The Colonel rose out of his chair and walked over to where the technician was seated.

"Details, please," Carver said. He looked to the computer monitor before the technician switched it to the large one at the wall. Flashing red text appeared: UNAUTHORISED ACCESS DETECTED. Streams of data, most of it computer gibberish to Carver, began running down the screen.

"They've made low level access," the technician stated. "I'm already working on a trace."

"Low level? Just how 'low' are we talking about?" Carver was not a computer expert, hence why he left much of that work to the younger technicians here who he paid handsomely. Still, even he knew unauthorised access to the Taskforce databases was a bad thing.

"Sensitive facility information," the technician replied, "Nothing about the projects here." He was typing away at his computer and, after his response to the Colonel, began muttering into his headset as he coordinated with other technicians elsewhere in the underground facility.

"I want them traced as soon as possible," Carver said. He picked up the phone from the table and quickly dialled a familiar, well-used number. He put the phone to his ear, watching the data streams on the display ahead with a frown. The words 'TRACE IN PROGRESS' had appeared underneath it all.

"Van Cleef?" Carver heard the line at the other end pick up. "Get a team together right now and meet me in the operations centre. We have a serious problem that's in need of 'fixing'."

Could it be the Autobots doing it? They were certainly capable of hacking Earth computers, likely even more so the augmented systems here at the Vault. They were essentially alien robots, there were probably a number of things they could do that not even the Taskforce knew about. All the more reason for a quick response in the face of this new development.

Carver hung up the phone on that line and tapped in the number for another section of the facility. As soon as the call was answered, he began giving orders.

"I need the choppers in the compound ready to go within the next ten minutes," Carver stated. "And I need at least three Anti-Material Cannons loaded onto them, ready for use in the field."


	31. Security Breach

**Security Breach**

Wheeljack had been waiting on a set of boulders near the highway for a while now. He stood watch, with both Bumblebee and Doubletake in their vehicle forms nearby. Both were concealed from view behind a large and rocky outcrop. From what Wheeljack had been told in Ultra Magnus' brief message, they were to regroup here and push on towards their next objective, wherever (and whatever) that was. As much as Wheeljack would have preferred some actual detail, as he would have certainly felt more at ease at coming out here, he and the others had been at a loss on what to do. Skystreaker had flown off and was yet to return, likely gone her own way for good this time. Wheeljack felt conflicted about it, even more so about what he had said to her that had apparently been enough to make her leave. Had he been too harsh? Maybe. But sometimes being harsh was the only way to have an effect.

The rain had stopped and the clouds above had begun to part, bringing some sunlight back to the desert. Wheeljack stood leaning against a boulder, his arms crossed, his mind wandering in his boredom. Tensions were high, this much he could see, especially regarding Bumblebee. The scout-turned-warrior had been put through hell on Cyclonus' ship. His wounds made this clear. Still, Wheeljack could commend the younger Autobot for persevering, even with just the one arm at his disposal. He could also understand his desire for revenge. Even he wanted to get back at the Decepticons for killing Knock Out, and he had found the Decepticon doctor tolerable at best.

Down the mostly straight road, Wheeljack caught sight of the large blue truck that gleamed in the light of the sun. He recognised it immediately as Ultra Magnus. The truck came roaring down the highway towards him, followed by two other vehicles. Both pinged as Autobots on his sensors, although Wheeljack only recognised one immediately as Wildstrike. The other one looked familiar and that familiarity grew as the vehicle came to a halt in front of him.

"Deadeye," Wheeljack spat, feeling the anger build in him. The three Autobots remained in vehicle mode, with Ultra Magnus sounding his horn to herald his arrival.

"He's with us, Wheeljack," the Autobot Commander said.

Wheeljack clenched his jaw as he regarded Deadeye's vehicle mode. He could easily imagine the Autobot grinning at him, in some kind of knowingly smug manner.

"So he can stab us in the back?" Wheeljack countered, looking to Ultra Magnus.

"Where are the others?" The Autobot Commander wisely changed the subject. On cue, both Bumblebee and Doubletake drove out of hiding and stopped nearby. There was an awkward silence as the other Autobots noticed the one missing.

"Where's Knock Out?" Ultra Magnus asked, concern audible in his voice.

"He didn't make it," Wheeljack answered. He stated it like the fact it was.

There was another extended silence amongst the group. Finally, Ultra Magnus spoke again, his voice carrying his usual stern tone.

"We have to get moving," he said. "We haven't got a lot of time. Fall in, Wheeljack."

"Where are we going?"

"Just follow my lead. We can brief each other on the way." Ultra Magnus put his engines into gear and started off down the highway. The others fell into formation behind him, leaving Wheeljack standing in the cloud of dust all of the vehicles kicked up in their wake. After a moment's deliberation, he figured it best he follow, so he quickly transformed into his vehicle mode, that of a white sports car, and started after them.

* * *

Colonel Carver had been watching the situation in the operations room unfold with his usual straight-faced attitude. Someone had hacked the Taskforce's network, that was certainly cause for concern, but he had every confidence that the intrusion would be combated effectively. The computer experts here were well on their way to pinpointing the exact location of the source of the intrusion.

The door to the operations centre opened and Captain Van Cleef walked inside, outfitted in his usual black uniform, complete with red beret. Carver turned to him as he entered. He saw that Van Cleef had an earpiece at one ear and that he was speaking into it as he walked in, likely directing the team he had put together to respond to the current problem.

"What's the location?" Van Cleef asked, looking towards Carver.

"It's from within the state," Carver replied. He watched the display ahead as a map of Nevada appeared. Three red blips signified the three helicopters that had been sent in response to the network intrusion. "To the north-west, in the direction of Carson City."

The three red blips adjusted their heading slightly as they started for the city in question. Carver watched the map display eagerly. The city, as it was displayed on the map, had been encircled with green, representing the current area to search. The technician seated nearby was working rapidly at the keyboard whilst speaking into his headset, all in the attempt to trace the intrusion to a far more specific location.

"Whoever's doing this must have underestimated us," Van Cleef remarked. "You'd think they'd at least get out of the state before trying to hack us."

"It's no laughing matter," Carver countered. "This could be the work of the Autobots. With their technology, they could probably hack just about any system they want." He kept his gaze fixed on the main display. The three red blips were closing in on Carson City. "How many operatives did you put on those choppers?"

"About a dozen," Van Cleef said. "Standard gear. Submachine guns, pistols, breaching equipment. The heavier stuff is on the choppers, if it's needed. And we can always send in more people. I've got about twenty on standby right now." He sounded smug. Apparently earlier successes had gone to his head.

Sometimes Carver found Van Cleef's laidback attitude irritating, but the man had gotten things done efficiently in the past. He was reliable, even when he was acting not quite as professionally as Carver would have preferred.

"We'll get them," Van Cleef added. The search radius decreased on the display as the network trace pinpointed the exact location. "Whoever's doing it. Autobot, or even Darby. It could be him, you know. Him and his friend."

"Esquivel?" Carver had read the reports. He knew of Rafael, he had been the one to send Van Cleef after him in the first place. "Maybe it is him. Regardless..."

"Regardless, we'll get them. And you know what, Colonel?" Van Cleef turned to him, wearing a smug smile. "They won't stand a chance. They won't even know what fucking hit them. If it wasn't for their Autobot friends, we'd have bagged these fucks days ago."

"I have the address," the technician nearby announced. "A warehouse, on the outskirts." The number and street name flashed upon the main display. Van Cleef quickly recited this information into his earpiece. The red blips on the screen ahead halted as the helicopters came to touch down.

Van Cleef put a finger to his earpiece as he listened to the latest update from the operatives on the ground. He relayed this information to Carver.

"They're landing," he said aloud. "It's a warehouse on a backstreet. Mostly empty."

* * *

The first of the Taskforce operatives on the ground rappelled down from a helicopter and into the parking lot of a warehouse, on the northern edge of Carson City. The tarmac was still wet from the rain earlier that day, shining in the subdued light of the sun that worked its way through the cloud cover.

Five more operatives touched down and the group proceeded to spread out across the front of the property, weapons at the ready while another six operatives landed on the street beyond the gate. No one was out and about on this road, nor any other for a few blocks. The neighbourhood here was mostly vacant lots with a few small, older houses in the mix.

Two operatives went to the front double doors of the warehouse. One kicked it in and the other followed, with a third watching the rear. Beyond, in the administration office, there was nobody. No sign of life, not even any furniture. The place, it seemed, was empty.

* * *

"Building's empty," Van Cleef announced, turning to Carver.

The Colonel frowned, noticing Van Cleef's eyes narrow as he heard the news through his earpiece.

"Any Autobot presence?" Carver asked.

"None that's been detected." Van Cleef put a finger to his earpiece and spoke loudly into it. "I want the whole place searched. Take it apart if you have to. Whoever's in our system, they're in that building."

* * *

In the main expanse of the warehouse, intended as the Autobot area given the large amounts of empty space, a few of the operatives had begun to search. There was not much to search for, with only several offline computer terminals being the standout items in the main hall. However, there was a metal door at the far end, leading down a ramp that went underground. It would have opened automatically, had power been running through the building. As it stood, the door had to be forced open manually.

Beyond was a tunnel, with pipes and conduits along the ceiling. It continued straight on for some distance, so about six of the operatives started down it, intent on following the tunnel to its end point. That end point came at another metal door, this one partially open, indicating some recent use. With the operatives spread out before it, one of them grabbed the handle and slowly pulled it open before stepping into the basement on the other side.

There was a tripwire across the doorway, something that the operatives had not been expecting. As a result, the man in the lead stepped forwards and walked straight into it. The powerful explosion that followed as a pair of grenades detonated sent the door flying off of its hinges. Two of the operatives were knocked to the ground, smoke and debris filling the doorway. There was not much left of the operative in the lead.

* * *

Van Cleef pulled the earpiece away and turned to Carver, his face scrunched up in anger.

"They've played us," he barked. "Booby traps."

Carver looked to the main display on the wall ahead. The system intrusion had abruptly ended, as if whoever or whatever had been responsible had turned itself off. Something automated, timed even? Nothing more than a ruse to draw their attention away from something else? Carver put his hands to the back of the chair in front of him. He clenched them tightly, the sinking feeling in his chest an indication that maybe, for once, his enemies had outplayed him. He might have even admired them, were the circumstances different.

"They only hacked as far as they could," Carver muttered. The possibilities played about in his head, with a few of them coming together in what he believed to be the most likely. He knew who he was dealing with. "They went as far into the network as they knew they could without being detected. And then, they must have set up some sort of timed hack. One that would be detected. A distraction, nothing more. They were long gone by the time it started." His voice began to increase in volume as he spoke. Van Cleef was watching him, not too sure of what to make of what the Colonel was saying. "But, what information could they already have?"

"Colonel, what's our next move?" Van Cleef asked. "This whole thing's a bust. They played us, pure and simple."

Carver continued watching the main display. The map of Nevada upon it remained unmoving. He put his eyes to where Las Vegas was marked, with the many roads and highways winding out of it and into the surrounding desert. On the edge was their location, marked in yellow, missing only the 'YOU ARE HERE' arrow.

"They know where we are," Carver said.

"What?" Van Cleef did not quite catch that statement. Regardless, he knew from Carver's tone that it was important.

"I need security in this facility doubled," Carver ordered as he turned to Van Cleef. "I want this city locked down."

"Locked down? We can't really do that..."

"Yes, we can. Roadblocks, armed guards, everything. No one gets in or out without us knowing about it." He could only hope that he was not too late implementing these measures. They had no idea just how long it had been since their enemies had started moving. "Anti-Material Cannons at every checkpoint..."

At that moment, there was the sound of a muffled, distant _thump_ as something on the surface above exploded. The whole facility rumbled, every surface vibrating briefly. Carver did feel that sinking feeling again, but he was quick to quell it before moving into action. An alarm bell began to ring and red lights in the walls started flashing as the entire facility went onto full alert.

* * *

On the outskirts of Las Vegas, in one of the more industrial areas, an explosion rocked the main gate of the Taskforce compound. Ultra Magnus, in his truck form, had come barrelling straight towards the gate, the accelerator pedal floored. The rifle he carried emerged from the side of the driver's cabin, fitted in place upon a rack that allowed the weapon to be fired when in vehicle mode. He sent a single shot into the guardhouse by the gate as he came racing towards it, causing the small metal structure to explode into a large fireball. The guards near it were knocked aside like ragdolls, debris raining down all around them as Ultra Magnus rammed the gate. The gate was shredded off of its hinges, rattling across the front of the blue semi-trailer before being caught underneath where it was promptly flattened out of shape by the Autobot Commander's tires.

He had no qualms about harming the humans here. They had proven to be more than capable of harming his kind, and they were more than willing to do so. In a situation like this, it boiled down to 'fight or die', except this time around they were taking the fight to them. This was an assault on their turf now. However, he would have to pick his targets carefully, by the look of things. There were plenty of non-combatants around here, civilians, scientists and technicians, even a few maintenance personnel in orange uniforms who went running for cover to his right. Ultra Magnus came to a skidding halt in the middle of the parking lot. Most of the humans around him were running away, even some of the guards were doing the same, likely in order to regroup and organize an effective defence. Usually Ultra Magnus would have preferred something other than a frontal assault, but given the circumstances it was probably the most fitting way of dealing with the Taskforce.

He opened both his doors then. Jack and Rafael climbed out, running for cover by the parked cars nearby. Jack carried a shotgun, with two pistols at his waist and a pack on his back full of ammunition. Both humans kept low by the cars while Ultra Magnus transformed into biped mode, pulling his heavy rifle from where it was clipped to his back. He scanned the area, noticing that most of the humans had indeed opted to run for cover. He ignored the frightened maintenance worker to his right, shooting him a stern glance that incited him to turn and race out of the wrecked main gate.

Wheeljack and Deadeye came driving in at that point, transforming into robot mode upon entering the compound. Ahead was the main building, a large and mostly cream-coloured stone structure. It took up much of the compound and carried numerous balconies and similar vantage points. Ultra Magnus motioned to Wheeljack to move ahead, before signalling to Deadeye to keep watch on the main building.

"They'll have reinforcements on their way," Ultra Magnus said. "We have to get this done quickly. Wheeljack, I want you to take Jack and Rafael into the building. There's likely a path underground. As for you, Deadeye, stay out here. Keep guard."

"No way," Deadeye countered. "I'm going in there and I'm going to find the Colonel. That bastard used me and I'm not going to let him get away with that." The Autobot was adamant and Ultra Magnus knew right away arguing with him, or even pulling rank, would only make matters worse. After a moment's deliberation, Ultra Magnus simply nodded in response. If Deadeye wanted to get himself killed, he could go right on ahead.

Wildstrike entered the compound at that point, one arm shifted into a standard energy cannon. She did not take the gate, instead she simply crashed through a section of fence further down, off to Ultra Magnus' right. She fired a shot at one of the outbuildings, causing at least half of the small metal structure to go up in a plume of fire. A few of the guards near it were knocked onto the ground by the concussive force of the blast.

"Wildstrike, check your fire," Ultra Magnus ordered. She turned to him from across the parking lot and nodded in acknowledgment. "There are non-combatants here."

"We have to find the server room," Rafael said. "It's probably deep inside the facility."

"You brought the right people along if you want to break in," Wheeljack said. He smiled down at Rafael before starting towards the main building, with the two humans following him closely. Several guards were taking up positions outside the front of the building, using pillars and the short stone walls around the gardens as cover. As Wheeljack approached them head-on, the guards opened fire with their submachine guns and assault rifles. The continuous _tak-tak-tak_ of automatic weapons fire echoed throughout the compound, with most of the rounds that hit home pinging off of Wheeljack's armour. Ultra Magnus started walking with Wheeljack, ignoring what small arms fire that him. He watched another guard emerge from the building, this one carrying a large and familiar looking black metal gun. Wheeljack saw it too and let fly with a shot from the fusion cannon he carried. The blast struck the wall behind the guard and his buddies, blowing a hole through it and vaporising the man with the cannon. Windows shattered near the impact zone from the sheer force of the blast. Several other guards were knocked aside, showered with stone and glass debris. Those that remained standing began to fall back, most heading into the main building. Amongst the guards, scientists and administrative staff were running out in an effort to escape the battle. They ignored the two hulking Autobots.

Deadeye came rushing by then, heading past the main building, likely in an effort to go around the flank. Ultra Magnus considered trying to rein him in, but decided against it. He had far more important things to do than try and wrangle that loose cannon.

The Autobot Commander came to the front of the main building. As he considered how to get inside, something fired some distance to his right. The shot, one from an Anti-Material Cannon, winged his left arm. He grunted from the stinging pain it caused before turning around, his gaze going to the trio of Taskforce operatives who had taken up position beyond a short stone wall some ways across an open lawn. Ultra Magnus returned fire with his rifle, sending a round into the dirt in front of them. The explosion blew the three of them to pieces, showering dirt and body parts around a small area. With that done, he turned to the main building and sent a heavy rifle blast straight into the front. The round punched through the stone easily, blasting a chunk from the front of the structure, sending fragments of brickwork raining down upon the pavement below. While Rafael and Jack moved into the building through the front entrance, Ultra Magnus barged his way into the vast front lobby using sheer brute force.

On most days the place would have looked tidy, with its cream coloured carpets, beige wallpaper and monitors displaying DARPA-related propaganda. There was even a model of the Saturn V rocket hanging from the ceiling, naturally a fraction of the actual rocket's size. Ultra Magnus brushed his head against this, causing it to sway on its cables. By now, the building was mostly deserted. Assorted debris littered the floor and the fire suppression systems had kicked in, drenching the entire interior in a shower of cold water.

"Over there," Jack shouted. He pointed across the hall, to a large metal bulkhead door at the base of a ramp. That likely lead into the underground levels, where much of the Taskforce work took place. As for this building, it was merely a consumer-friendly front. Ultra Magnus looked to the bulkhead door and crouched low as he considered how they would enter the tunnel. It looked like that he and Wheeljack would have to enter vehicle mode to get around better.

"Wheeljack, get this door open," Ultra Magnus ordered. The Autobot Wrecker nodded in response before he pulled a grenade from his waist. On the walkway above, several Taskforce operatives appeared, outfitted in black combat gear. Two of them had Anti-Material Cannons, whereas another carried a rocket launcher.

Ultra Magnus sent a shot into the walkway that blew away a few of the humans. One of them let fly with a shot from an Anti-Material Cannon, one that caught the Autobot Commander in the chest. The force of it knocked him backwards, but despite the pain and the awkward position he managed to return fire. His rifle thundered in the expanse of the hall, sending two more powerful rounds into the walkway before the entire thing came down, metal twisting and screeching. The remaining guards on it tumbled and fell.

Wheeljack walked up to his side, putting out one hand in an offer of assistance. Ultra Magnus, his chest burning, took the offer, doing his best to ignore Wheeljack's smug expression. Back on his feet, Ultra Magnus checked the hole that had been punched through his armour. It could have been worse, although the pain was significant.

"Keep moving," Ultra Magnus ordered. "Vehicle mode, Wheeljack. It'll be easier."

* * *

At the other side of the compound, Bumblebee and Doubletake had come crashing through the rear gate before transforming into biped mode. Both had proceeded to lay waste to the guard positions, inciting many of the actual guards to turn and run. With the base under attack from both sides, it was unlikely the defenders within would be able to properly organize. It was the reinforcements that they had to keep an eye out for, so both Autobots went about their assigned tasks of remaining outside on watch. Wildstrike did the same at the other side of the base, all three waiting for the inevitable arrival of the local authorities and the Taskforce's reinforcements.

* * *

Carver remained in the operations room, even with the explosions thumping overhead and the underground facility shaking in response around him. While technicians panicked and entire groups of guards ran for cover, Carver remained where he was and continued cycling the main display through the many camera feeds available. Autobots at the front, Autobots at the back. It was a full-fledged assault. Practically a terrorist attack, although he figured those carrying it out believed their intentions to be pure. What terrorist did not believe that? It was all down to perspective, really. Not that he had much time to dwell on such thoughts. There were measures that needed to be taken, something he had already alerted Van Cleef to. The Captain had rushed out of the operations room to organise a defence. Reinforcements would be here in fifteen minutes, the local authorities even sooner. Of course, the attackers would be aware of this. They would be operating on a very strict timeframe, hoping to inflict as much damage and carry out their objectives as quickly as possible.

The underground facility had been put into lockdown, but the thick bulkhead doors did not stand up well to the Autobots. On one of the surveillance monitors, Carver watched as Ultra Magnus stopped in the main tunnel and pulled a heavy energy rifle from his back. A single shot from it was enough to obliterate the metal bulkhead in front of him, allowing him and his buddies free access into the underground facility. The entire place shook as the door exploded into a mess of metal fragments and searing hot slag. Carver watched this dispassionately. An attack like this had been a possibility and even with their sophisticated technology, there had always been the possibility that the Taskforce would not be able to stand up well in response. So, instead of trying to hold these Autobots off, Carver had decided on trapping them within the compound. The reinforcements would help do that. And then, with that done, it would be relatively easy to pick them off.

Flicking through the different camera feeds, Carver stopped at one from the west side of the compound. Deadeye was there and he had just blasted his way into an outbuilding, one with a tunnel leading to the underground facility. It was a tunnel normally reserved for transport vehicles bringing cargo in and out of the facility. In this case, the 'cargo' Deadeye carried was a pair of Cybertronian blasters. The Autobot was alone, having split off from the main group. Carver nodded his head knowingly as he saw the Autobot transform and speed into the tunnel. There was a very good chance Deadeye was coming straight for him. This was exactly what Carver wanted. All he had to do was wait, maybe move out into the research floor outside the operations room. Deadeye would come to him. This would save the Colonel a fair bit of legwork.


	32. Unto the Breach

**Unto the Breach**

Jack and Rafael had not encountered much resistance within the underground facility. The central tunnel took them, along with Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack, a fair depth under the surface and into what was no doubt a vast facility. The scale of the tunnels and adjoining areas were such that the two Autobots were able to move freely, alhough some areas required them to crouch down in order to move and not scrape their heads upon the ceiling. Red lights were flashing down the length of the concrete tunnel and occasionally someone would run by in the opposite direction, either someone in a white lab-coat, or a grey technician's uniform or an orange maintenance uniform. Rafael had referred to some schematics gained in the hack earlier and seemed to know where he was going, so Jack followed with both Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus in tow. The Autobot Commander kept up front a few paces, blowing away any obstacles with his large rifle.

Rafael took them round a sharp right bend, to another bulkhead door that did not stand up well to Ultra Magnus' weapon. However, as soon as it was down, a hail of gunfire came through from the other side. Both Jack and Rafael scattered, with Jack diving behind a stack of metal boxes as bullets pounded into the floor and wall nearby. Clouds of concrete dust erupted from each impact, showering him as he landed on his side and attempted to gather his bearings.

A frontal assault had been risky, foolhardy even. However, with the element of surprise on their side, the group had made significant progress. It had been Rafael's idea to set the timed delay on the computers back at the safe-house. Essentially, he had hacked as far as he figured he could go before being detected. Thankfully, the information gathered had revealed the location and general layout of the facility. As for what was being researched here, that information remained buried under layers and layers of security protocols. Hacking a computer here, at ground zero, would hopefully help shed some light on some of those things.

Jack clutched his semi-automatic shotgun and scrambled back onto his feet. Behind him, both Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack remained stalwart under the hail of small arms fire. Through the blown bulkhead, a barricade had been formed where several Taskforce guards had taken positions. One of them hefted an Anti-Material Cannon and began to take aim. Jack leaned around the boxes and fired a few shots from his shotgun, causing one of the guards to duck into cover as the buckshot collided with the top of the metal barricade.

Wheeljack did not hesitate to let off a shot from his fusion cannon. It hit the centre of the barricade, sending forth a flash of purple flame that filled the tunnel and silenced the guns of the guards. Smoke filled the air, as did the stench of burning flesh, a smell that hit Jack's nostrils and made him feel nauseous. He slowly stepped from cover, shotgun held at the ready, as he traversed the wrecked bulkhead and made his way through the smouldering wreck of the barricade. Rafael followed slowly, looking around at the devastation with horror in his eyes.

Is this what they had come to? Autobots killing humans like it was nothing? Jack hated this, yet he knew there was little other choice. The Taskforce wanted him dead and had killed Fowler in the process. He could not get mad at Wheeljack for blowing these guards away, not when the circumstances were as desperate as they were.

Beyond the barricade was a vast, open floor with walkways crisscrossing above and a number of metal and glass partitions scattered about. Behind these partitions were what appeared to be laboratories of a sort, with Cybertronian technology laid out across slabs and in a lot of cases hooked up to computers with thick, snaking cables. On any other day this place would be full of scientists and technicians. At the moment, the place was mostly deserted, the evacuation upon the advent of the attack having done its job. It was surprisingly vast, hewn from the rock, pipes and cables attached to the ceiling up high and snaking down the walls. Red lights pulsed about the place, casting ominous shadows. Rafael stopped where he was for a moment, putting one hand up as he attempted to recall the correct directions from the schematics. Finally, after what felt like an hour of deliberation while it was in fact only for several seconds, he pointed straight ahead to the set of double doors across the hall.

"Through there," he declared. "First door on the right. Mainframe room."

"You sure?" Jack asked.

"Yes," Rafael replied. He frowned, as if he found Jack's doubting of his memory insulting. It was more than likely a symptom of the stress he was under, exemplified by the anxious way in which he clasped his hands together at that moment.

Wheeljack strolled over to one of the large glass windows and peered inside. A curious look crossed his face and he turned to Ultra Magnus, motioning for him to come over.

"Hey Chief," Wheeljack said. He pointed to what lay behind the window. "What does that look like to you?"

Ultra Magnus looked inside and frowned. Lying spread-eagled across a large metal slab was what looked to be a Cybertronian torso, mostly silver in colour, missing the arms and legs and the head. He gave a sickened grimace as he saw this.

"Human experiments, no doubt," he replied, his voice laced with disgust.

"It's like a damn scrap-yard in here," Wheeljack added. He stepped over to the next window and looked inside, his eyes widening slightly as he optics lay sight upon the dismembered Decepticon head staring back at him. There was only one optic in place upon the Decepticon's visage, the other missing and instead replaced with a thick cable that had been shoved into the socket.

Rafael and Jack came to the double doors. The flashing light on the keypad by the doorway indicated that they were locked. Jack did not hesitate to fire a shotgun round straight into the keypad, causing the entire thing to explode with sparks whilst scattering metal fragments. The doors partially opened then, loosened somewhat from their fittings. Jack put an arm through the narrow gap, mustering his strength in order to slide one of the doors open. Somewhere above them, an explosion rocked the compound, causing dust to loosen itself from the metal rafters in the ceiling before it rained down across the research area.

Jack entered the corridor behind. It was well lit, with a T-intersection some distance ahead. On the right was a metal door marked 'SYSTEM MAINFRAME', and underneath that sign the typical 'AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY' one. Rafael followed Jack into the corridor and went to the door. Again, there was a keypad lock here, one that Jack promptly shot apart with his shotgun. However, the door did not slide open, it simply remained locked shut. He took a step back and considered his options. Putting aside the shotgun, he pulled off his backpack and set it on the floor nearby. From within, he pulled a grenade. Rafael saw this and his eyes widened noticeably.

"You could damage the computers," he said.

"You have any better ideas?" Jack asked. He stepped up to the door and gently set the grenade on the floor right against it. Snatching up his pack before slinging it back over his shoulders, he put one hand to the pin and pulled it sharply. As soon as it was free, he turned and grabbed Rafael by one arm, dragging him along as he bolted down the corridor.

Seconds later, there was a thunderous _crash_ as the grenade detonated within the confines of the corridor. The door into the computer room was torn free of its housing and sent flying. Jack's ears rung as he and Rafael hit the carpeted floor, the smell of scorched metal thick on the air. Both of them rose to their feet a moment later, with Jack turning around to find a small scorched crater left in the floor where the door used to be. One of the lights above had been smashed and smoke wafted about the corridor. Jack entered the mainframe room, finding it dimly lit and filled with cool air, a result of the air conditioning ducts above that helped to keep the powerful computers from overheating. Several monitors glowed in the dim light beyond a glass sliding door, and even further than that were several server banks covered in lights and connected by numerous blue and black cables. Rafael brushed past him and went to the largest of the monitors, sitting down in the chair before it and immediately getting to work.

From one pocket on his vest, Rafael pulled out a USB flash drive and stuck it into one of the ports at the computer's hard drive. Jack stood by the doorway, keeping watch on the corridor outside. He could hear footsteps nearby, numerous ones at that. The grenade explosion had likely attracted the attention of others. Neither Wheeljack nor Ultra Magnus could help them in here, given the decidedly human-sized confines.

"How long is this going to take, Raf?" Jack asked, looking back to Rafael.

"If you want me to get some solid information, it could take a while," Rafael replied. He did not look up from the monitor.

"I just don't think we'll be alone for long," Jack added, his voice grim. Further down the corridor, from past the intersection, two armed guards in black combat gear appeared. Jack reacted quickly, sending several shotgun blasts downrange, cutting both men down before they could react. Those further behind them immediately halted, with one sticking his submachine gun around the corner. He proceeded to fire blindly, the bullets spraying wildly about the corridor, slamming into the walls and floors. Jack stepped back from the doorway as parts of it were struck, punching holes through the metal frame. Small explosions erupted from the carpeted floor as nine-millimetre rounds hit home.

"Whatever you're doing, Raf, hurry it up." Jack had to shout to get his voice heard over the commotion. Promptly, he began to cram fresh shells into his M1014. One of the Taskforce guards began to move down the corridor, an MP5K submachine gun clasped in his hands. Jack stuck his shotgun around the doorway and pointed it down the narrow corridor. He pulled the trigger, sending the buckshot in the operative's general direction. Much of it missed, with a few pellets becoming lodged in his left shoulder. He shouted and fell onto his back, but as he landed he brought up his weapon and returned fire. More rounds pounded into the doorway, forcing Jack to step even further back from it. The quick _tak-tak-tak_ of the automatic weapon was loud within the confined space, but it was over quickly as the operative's magazine struck empty.

Jack leaned around the doorway and promptly shot the wounded operative. The buckshot caught him in the face, knocking his head backwards and sending forth a spray of blood and bits of bone. The other guard at the intersection in the corridor had pulled out a grenade of sorts, grey and cylindrical, that he tossed in Jack's general direction. It was a flash grenade, Jack realised, and he quickly ducked back into the room as it went off with a loud _bang!_ A white flash filled the corridor for a split second and the two remaining guards pressed forwards, weapons held at the ready.

"I think I've found something," Rafael announced, seemingly oblivious to what was happening out in the corridor. Jack went to lean around the doorway, only for the two Taskforce soldiers to open fire. This forced him to back away, his shotgun raised, though neither soldier strolled in. Instead, another flash grenade sailed into view, landing a few feet from him.

He turned away from it as it went off, the loud bang of the detonation resounding in his ears. His vision mostly clear, he swivelled around as the first Taskforce soldier stepped into the doorway. Jack blasted him, knocking him backwards a few steps, causing him to fall into the doorway. The other one responded by this time tossing an actual fragmentation grenade into the room. Jack saw it rolling towards him, aware that he only had seconds to act.

So, in a fit of impulse that only someone desperate to survive would do, he lashed out and kicked the grenade, sending it flying back out into the corridor. As soon as it was clear, he dived away from the doorway and onto the floor. The grenade exploded, the noise sending yet more ringing through his ears, the concussive wave of air hitting him hard. Part of the wall near the doorway fell away in the explosion while smoke and debris filled the corridor outside. Something long and heavy landed in front of his head, his eyes taking a moment to register the presence of the scorched, severed arm that had come to rest in front of him. Scrambling onto his feet, eyes wide, Jack swallowed and quickly checked himself for any missing parts of his own. Thankfully, he was still in one piece, if a bit dirty.

He made his way over to where Rafael was seated. The younger man was scrolling through pages of information on the display, skimming what he could, as there was no time to peruse it all.

"I think I have what we need," he said.

Jack's ears were still ringing from the explosions. He peered at the screen, skim-reading what he could see.

"The names of politicians and corporate CEOs bankrolling the Taskforce," Rafael said. "Carver has a lot of support in high places. But that's the least of it. There's something else, an artefact they found some years ago. Something called the 'Seal of Nova Prime'."

Jack had figured that some kind of ancient relic would play into matters at some point. Earth had been littered with them far into the past, both the histories of Earth and Cybertron being so closely intertwined.

"It's what Carver used to bargain with the Decepticons," Rafael explained as he quickly read through the information. "They want it badly, but it's been hidden in the facility here. It must be important, something that we shouldn't leave in Carver's hands, nor should we let the Decepticons get hold of it."

"What does it do?"

"It doesn't say." Rafael put a hand to his glasses, adjusting them slightly. "I don't think the researchers here have been able to work it out. But it's this other info that concerns me the most: the Vice President is among the Taskforce's supporters. Carver's apparently planning on seizing control of the government and the Vice President is drafting up a new Act to allow just that."

Jack frowned. Carver had seemed like, to him at least, the fairly typical hard-assed military sort. He had never struck Jack as an extremist in any form, just a man with strong views on some matters. There had been times in the past when Carver had criticised the government's actions, but nothing more. His disdain for bureaucracy had been apparent from the get-go. Carver was a man of action, the sort who was obviously not afraid to kill a few innocents to get his way.

"What do we do about that?" Jack asked. He honestly had no idea how to approach the situation. This was far bigger than he was, even with the Autobots involved.

"We expose him," Rafael answered. He pulled the flash drive out of the computer. "There's someone who could help us. General Williamson."

"And he isn't in on this whole scheme?"

"It says right in these files that Carver's planning to kill him," Rafael countered. He rose from the seat and stuffed the USB flash drive into one pocket at his trousers. "I think, if we could get his help to stop Carver, our chances will improve dramatically."

"And the Decepticons?"

"We get the Seal and we send it back to Cybertron."

Jack nodded. He could go along with this, as daunting as it seemed. Taking on the Taskforce was one thing, the Decepticons were an entirely different beast.

"I'll go with Ultra Magnus to get this 'Seal'," Jack said. "You go with Wheeljack. He can help get you out of here." He reached for the holster at his waist and with one hand pulled free the Beretta pistol that had been contained within. He handed the weapon to Rafael, who took it in one hand with noticeable trepidation. Rafael had not had the same training Jack had. He had never needed to fire a weapon in anger before.

"Hold on to that," Jack advised.

Rafael nodded. He stuffed the pistol under his belt.

"Go get the Seal and get out of here. It's on Sub-Level Two, Secure Vault B-9. There's a freight elevator across the main hall." Rafael said. "As for General Williamson, he's in Las Vegas, so it won't be hard to find him once this is over. We can talk him into helping us."

"Sounds like more of a plan than we had before." Jack smiled then, a fairly flimsy one at that. "I'll see you outside."

Rafael watched him leave. The sullen look on his face indicated that he believed he may never see him again. Jack would be sure to prove him wrong later, for now he set his mind on the task at hand. He headed out into the vast open hall where both Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack had been standing guard. The latter Autobot looked bored, fusion cannon held over one shoulder as he turned to watch Jack emerge from the offices.

"We heard shooting," he said. "Is Raf all right?"

"He'll be out in a minute," Jack replied. "You get him out of here, okay? Make sure he doesn't get hurt."

"Hey, I got you both in here just fine," Wheeljack replied, a smug smile forming on his metal features. "No reason why I can't get you both out."

"I'm not going with you," Jack said. Wheeljack raised an optic ridge curiously. "Ultra Magnus and I are going to steal something."

"Huh, I don't think the chief's one for thieving..."

Ultra Magnus stepped forwards and looked down at Jack, his face wearing his usually stern expression.

"What are we looking for?" He asked.

"Something called the 'Seal of Nova Prime'," Jack said. "You know it?"

"Afraid not. I've heard of the name: 'Nova Prime' is a religious figure, but a fringe one at that." Ultra Magnus gave a thoughtful look as he searched his memories for anything more on the matter. "That's about all I know."

"There's that cult, back on Cybertron," Wheeljack interjected. Both Jack and Ultra Magnus turned to him, waiting to hear more. "Bunch of loonies worship this 'Nova Prime' guy. Make him sound like a god."

There was certainly more to it than they all knew. Jack found the lack of actual useful information to be typical, as he would have very much preferred to know what the Seal of Nova Prime actually did before stealing it from the Taskforce facility.

"Whatever it is, it's here. And the Decepticons want it badly enough that they were willing to work for Colonel Carver to get it." Jack pushed a few more shells inside the magazine tube of his shotgun to ensure that the weapon was fully loaded. "We should get it and take it back to Cybertron."

"We don't even know what it does..." Wheeljack began, but Ultra Magnus interrupted him.

"Regardless, we shouldn't allow such an item to remain in the hands of these human extremists," he said, his tone level. "Nor should we allow it to fall into the hands of the Decepticons. Taking it back to Cybertron would be the wisest course of action."

"The only ground-bridge is back at Unit-E headquarters," Wheeljack countered. "And that got pretty busted up last time I was there."

"It can be fixed." Ultra Magnus scrunched up his metal brow and looked in Wheeljack's direction. "And when it is, Wheeljack, we can all return home. Isn't that what you want?"

Wheeljack fell silent. He seemed conflicted, something that Jack found interesting as it was not normally something one would see from the Autobot Wrecker. In fact, Wheeljack had struck him as especially conflicted recently, as if there were things weighing on his mind that had not been there nine years before. The change from wartime to peacetime must have taken its toll on him, a soldier who had known little else from the life of violence that had been thrust upon him through no fault of his own. Jack had read of war veterans struggling to adapt to normal society after returning home from war; maybe Wheeljack was simply the Cybertronian equivalent of such?

Nonetheless, he had no time to dwell on the matter further. They had clear goals now, something that he was grateful for, but they had perhaps ten minutes at most to carry them out before Taskforce reinforcements started flowing into the facility.

* * *

Deadeye had gone off alone for a few reasons: one, he knew that he worked far better alone than with others, especially if those others were Autobots and especially if those others were ones like Ultra Magnus. The Autobot Commander may have allowed him into their little group of fugitives, but that did not mean Deadeye had to abide by his rules and follow his orders like an obedient tin soldier. Secondly, Deadeye wanted Colonel Carver to himself. He also wanted free reign of the entire facility, in the sense that he would be free to shoot whoever he wanted and cause general destruction. There was something beautiful in the way something would explode, whether it be from a conventional grenade or an energy weapon striking it. Humans may have called him a 'pyromaniac' had they known of his love for watching such destruction and, on occasion, causing it.

Carver had used him. He had lied to him, utilised him as nothing more than an obedient tool, but he had made him comfortable while doing it. The Colonel had given him the sort of life he wanted, an easy one where he had all the outlets of entertainment he needed in order to whittle away the downtime between missions where he was out doing what he enjoyed. Killing Decepticons never got old. It was just a shame the arrangement he had with Colonel Carver had to end this way.

That human had taken advantage of him. Used him to help them create weapons and technology capable of directly combating Cybertronians. Early on, this had sounded reasonable: in exchange for letting him kill Decepticons, Deadeye would help them build better defences. Energon detectors, anti-armour weaponry, scanner jammers. Yet he could not sit back and let Carver use this technology to hunt down other Autobots, as much as Deadeye might have disliked them. That was simply not right.

Deadeye had made his way to one of the outbuildings before he had shot his way inside. Here, there was a freight elevator, one he was able to take down into the sub-levels underneath the compound. By now most of the non-combat personnel had evacuated, leaving only those who were willing to defend the facility, the ones that were most likely Taskforce personnel and as such affiliated with Colonel Carver. They were the ones he was more than willing to blow away, and he did just that when the elevator stopped at the end of a large concrete tunnel. There were four armed guards waiting here, spread across the hall, with one having mounted an anti-material cannon on a metal barricade.

Deadeye had room to stand as he stepped off of the elevator, one of his slug-thrower pistols in his right hand and the old-model Decepticon blaster he had confiscated off of Skystreaker clasped in his left. The Anti-Material Cannon fired, the noise of the shot reverberating loudly through the tunnel. It clipped him in the left arm, sending a stab of pain through it, but he was quick to recover. He sent a slug-thrower round into the barricade, causing it to explode violently, throwing the guard behind it backwards several feet. The other three opened fire with assault rifles and began to slowly back away as they did.

Deadeye sent a pink Decepticon laser shot into one of them, causing the guard to explode into a hundred charred pieces. The other two turned and began to run. He let them be, more concerned with finding Carver. He had been to other Taskforce facilities and he knew that there would be some kind of main operations centre somewhere around here. So, he started down the tunnel, ignoring the fleeing guards before rounding a corner to where a bulkhead door was located. There was another barricade here, manned by a large mounted machine gun. Three guards were here, one manning the gun, and all three began pounding him with bullets. It was the larger rounds from the mounted gun that stung the most, causing him to stumble as a few caught him in the lesser-protected stomach region. Nonetheless, he sent a shot into the group, destroying the mounted gun and sending the remaining two guards flying to either side.

The Autobot ducked through the doorway and into the larger room beyond. There were two levels to this area, the bottom a research lab of some sort, which had been dug from the solid rock. On a walkway above was a sign pointing in the direction of the 'Operations Room', his intended destination. However, it was what was within the laboratory that caught his attention. Scattered about on a metal slab to the left of the room, with cables snaking from it that hooked it to several computers, were the dismembered limbs of a Cybertronian. They had been stripped of their armour plating, leaving only the underlying endoskeleton and the empty energon lines that worked their way along it. Energon stained the surrounding floor, dull blue streaks upon grey cement.

The limbs were not the only thing there. On a slab closer to the wall was a severed head, one that had several scorch marks and dents marring its form. A long gash was down one side of the head, as if caused by some sort of heavy blade. Deadeye found himself looking at this head for a long while, his surroundings losing focus as he tried to pin the face to someone he knew. That was just it: he _knew_ that face, he simply did not know from where. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, was the answer. And no matter how hard he thought, he could not find it.

"See someone familiar?"

The voice cut through his thoughts like a knife. He knew who it was right away and swivelled around to face its source. Colonel Carver stood on the walkway ahead, his hands on the railing while he watched Deadeye. He was alone, a courageous option. Then again, Carver seemed braver than most.

Deadeye pointed his slug-thrower pistol at the man, one finger hovering over the trigger.

"You used me," Deadeye stated.

"We had an arrangement. One you appeared to enjoy."

"I gave you what you wanted. And now you're using what I've given you to hunt down other Autobots. I can't allow that." Deadeye considered shooting him right then and there, but something stopped him. He could not work out what. Some kind of invisible force prevented his finger from pulling the trigger.

Carver seemed relatively unconcerned, even when faced with a disgruntled Autobot.

"Pull the trigger, if you please," he said. "Kill me. What I've started won't end with my death."

Deadeye went to oblige him. Again, something stopped him. An ache in his head began to build. Annoyed, he lowered the slug-thrower and raised the Decepticon laser pistol he held in his left hand. Even that hand refused to follow the orders his mind sent to it. His finger twitched but no matter how hard he tried, he simply could not pull the trigger. Carver noticed his trouble and his mouth curled into a slight grin. It was a cruel look, one that belied some knowledge that the Autobot was unaware of. Deadeye felt his frustration levels rising. He took a step forwards and went to pull the trigger, but a sharp pain shot through his head at that moment. He grunted, lowering the weapon as his head throbbed.

"You wouldn't remember," Carver continued. Deadeye checked both his pistols. Both were in working order. "You crashed here on board a scout ship. Your ship was damaged beyond repair, but not beyond salvage. The same went for you, in a way."

"What do you mean?" Deadeye frowned. He wanted to blast the Colonel, yet he could not determine why he was unable to bring himself to do so. Even the thought of the action seemed to cause him pain now.

"You were mostly dead when we dragged you from the wreck," Carver explained. "Were it anyone else who recovered your remains, you would have surely died. But my people know a great deal about your race. We studied the remains of the Decepticons we found, those that were destroyed by the Autobots nine years ago, and those that were taken down by us more recently. As well as that, the work of a renegade organization, now defunct, proved very helpful to our work. They had constructed a Cybertronian of their own, as short-lived as it was. And the Taskforce scientists applied a similar principle to you."

"I survived the wreck," Deadeye said. Carver was a liar, he could not believe a word out of this human's mouth. He had deceived him right from the beginning in order to gain his assistance. "I _chose_ to help you..."

"And that's precisely what we wanted you to believe," Carver interrupted. His smile had gone, replaced with his normally stern gaze. "We saved your brain, Deadeye, as cheesy as it sounds. That body of yours, it's built from Decepticon spare-parts. We went the extra mile to make it look nice, to make it look _normal,_ but in the end you're essentially a Frankenstein's monster, save for your brain. It's fascinating, really. You seem inorganic, yet you Cybertronians are comprised of a metal that is not on the Earthly-periodic table. A metal that is not inorganic, yet is not organic, all at the same time. Tubes that act like veins. Processors that act like neurons." He paused for a moment, letting his words hang in the air between them. Deadeye's spark had run cold. A sinking feeling had built in him, one that threatened to drag him down into the dark depths of misery. "We learned a lot building you. We learned even more when we delved into that head of yours."

"You're lying." Deadeye's tone had turned feeble. Doubt had taken hold of him like a vice.

"Not at all." Carver spoke matter-of-factly. "We modified your memories. Made you believe you had come out of the crash unscathed. Made you think you had willingly joined the Taskforce. Made you believe that you were helping us out of your own volition."

Deadeye realised that his hands were shaking. Nonetheless, he pointed a pistol towards Carver and went to pull the trigger. Again, a sharp pain went through his head, strong enough to make him yelp and stumble backwards a few steps.

"We buried directives deep inside your coding. Safety measures, if you will. Subtle ones, ones activated through certain phrases. We wanted you to retain most of your free will, as turning you into some kind of zombie would have likely made you less useful. The directives remain in place, but there's nothing stopping you from disobeying my orders. Unless, of course, I utilise the failsafe command."

Carver was beyond reproach. The Taskforce had created him, an abomination. That was what he was. Any other Cybertronian who knew of his true nature would likely paint him as such. Were it not for the fact that he was unable to take a shot at Carver, Deadeye would not have believed him. However, with the proof right in his face, he found a feeling of complete powerlessness wash over him. It brought him down hard, left his hands shaking. The guns he carried felt almost alien to him now.

_"__Instrumentum__enim__, ut ordinem novum__."_ Carver stated this aloud and it was enough to completely shatter Deadeye's train of thought. Something in him clicked, somewhere within his mind shackles were put in place. Something told him that this had been one of the 'certain phrases' Carver had mentioned.

"You'll have no choice but to follow my explicit orders now, Deadeye," Carver added. "You won't be able to protest them whatsoever. It's unfortunate, binding you in such a way, but it's necessary. I can't have you, or any of the other Autobots, interfering with what I've started. It is convenient, in that sense, that they are all within this compound. That's sure to save you a lot of legwork."

"I won't kill them for you," Deadeye said, defiant. As if on cue, a sharp stab of pain worked its way through his head. He clenched his metal jaw and grunted, his optics closing as he put a hand to his forehead in a futile effort to ease the sensation.

"You will," Carver countered. "You haven't got a choice. Go and find the Autobots. Kill them all."

Deadeye found himself going to the laboratory's exit, as if some other force was guiding him. He had a general idea as to where the other Autobots were located, although he had no desire to harm any of them, no matter how much he may have disliked them. However, the overwhelming drive to follow Carver's orders had taken hold of all of his faculties, setting him on the task in a single-minded fashion, one that the rest of his mind began to fight against viciously. Whatever the Taskforce had done to his head, they had done a very good job: he could gain no traction in this developing mental battle. He left his intended target, the perfect opportunity to take it out lost. Deep inside him, his frustration turned to rage. It left him as a series of snarls as he traversed the tunnel outside, snarls that turned into a long, drawn out yell that reverberated through the tunnel. This yell was directed to no one in particular, his rage against the heavens going unheeded.


	33. What Your Father Made You

**What Your Father Made You**

"Your orders were clear," Vortex said. The Combaticon must have been frowning, although it was hard to tell: his optics were hidden beneath a yellow visor, his mouth concealed under a metal battle-plate. Nonetheless, the broad-shouldered soldier forced the familiar prisoner to the floor before Star Saber.

They were in the observation room, a favourite spot for Star Saber. The Autobot zealot eyed the female flyer before him. He knew who she was. In fact, he had been searching for her for a long time. However, the familiarity was not mutual. Skystreaker, beaten and dented in places, looked up at him with a confused grimace.

"This is the deserter," Vortex added. Star Saber nodded in acknowledgement. Behind him, the large reinforced window looked out across the rear of the ship and the surrounding clouds. Sunlight streamed in, casting Star Saber in a yellow glow from behind.

"I've searched for you, Skystreaker," Star Saber said, leaning forwards slightly in order to get a closer look at her. He glanced back to Vortex. "You may leave."

"Should I notify Cyclonus?"

"Of course not," Star Saber replied, bluntly. "Leave. Skystreaker and I have much to discuss."

Vortex nodded and turned around before he strode out of the room, leaving Star Saber along with Skystreaker. The female flyer clutched one side and gave a pained expression, energon fluid leaking from a minor wound she had received there. The Decepticon soldiers had not been gentle when they had apprehended her, literally shooting her out of the sky in the process. She had likely not been counting on the presence of a Decepticon warship in the skies above the United States. Why she had been flying around alone was unknown to Star Saber. It was convenient, certainly, but he preferred to think that fate had brought them together. God was on his side, after all. Nova Prime at least.

"Your boys are a bit rough, huh?" Skystreaker quipped. Star Saber watched her, his face passive, his mouth concealed beneath a battle-plate. It was only the blazing blue optics that showed any semblance of emotion. Familiarity, for one. "Do I know you?"

"You did once, a long time ago," Star Saber replied.

"You're an Autobot," Skystreaker noted. She smiled. "On a Decepticon ship. So much for being the 'good guys', huh?"

Star Saber narrowed his optics at her. He knew her type, it was simply distressing to see her in particular as one of them.

"Your father did well to hide you from me," Star Saber said. "Of course, that is assuming he is your father. You are aware that the one who served as your male guardian was no more a father to you as I am?"

"He took me in," Skystreaker replied. She frowned, likely finding the subject matter a confusing one. To be brought aboard a Decepticon ship only to talk family matters with an Autobot was likely not at all what she had been expecting. "He tried to keep me out of the war. But I wanted in on it..." She trailed off, raising one optic-ridge as she did so, her confusion evident. "Who are you and why do you act as if you know me?"

"I knew your father. And I knew you, when you were nothing more than a youngling, still dripping with the energon from your birthing sac. As soon as I knew you were within Cyclonus' ranks, I ordered some of my followers to bring you in."

"But I thought Cyclonus..."

"Cyclonus did not order your capture. In fact, he does not care about one deserter. And he knows not of your connection to me."  
Skystreaker chuckled then, if only briefly.

"And what is your connection to me?" She asked, incredulous. "Because, you see big guy, I've had a heck of a day."

"It's about to become more interesting," Star Saber remarked. "I was a pontiff of the Church of the Thirteen during the Golden Age of Cybertron, all the way up until the Autobot-Decepticon war destroyed what semblance of the Church remained by that point. That is not mentioning the gradual decline in those who followed the faith, many of whom turned to a more atheist, and in turn, degenerate, way of living. I founded the Sect of Nova Prime, comprised of ten members, myself at the head. Your 'father' was another, if you can even call him that."

Skystreaker let out a sigh. Star Saber had expected such insolence and did not let it bother him.

"When I was captured by your soldiers, I didn't think I'd get subjected to a sermon," Skystreaker said. "But if that'll spare me from the torture I was expecting, go on right ahead. Tell me all about how great and wonderful your obsolete religion is. I'll listen." She smiled. "Well, maybe I won't."

Star Saber considered striking her, but decided against it. He did not wish to hurt her. The soldiers had done enough damage, judging from the scorch marks and dents that marred her silver frame.

"Nova Prime selected me for a holy purpose," Star Saber continued. "He selected your father also. Nova Prime was one of the most powerful of the original thirteen, one who believed in the superiority of the Cybertronian race. The others disapproved of his attitude, but they were unable to stop his ascension to a higher plane. The Book of Nova Prime contains several prophecies and the Sect of Nova Prime has seen to the fulfilment of each one. All that remains are the last few, those that speak of the return of the Cybertronian race to its former glory, under the charge of the Prime himself."

Skystreaker listened with only vague interest. It was obvious she did not believe any of it. Star Saber was not concerned with whether she believed it or not. She would understand soon enough.

"Nova Prime will return," Star Saber said. "Through you." He leaned forwards and placed a hand to her chest. He sensed it, another life within her. A fresh one at that. Skystreaker's optics widened and her gaze met with his.

"You can't be serious," she spat.

"As it was written," Star Saber countered. "Your 'father' became disillusioned with the faith. He turned against the Sect, killed several of its members and stole you away from me. Very few are compatible with the Seal of Nova Prime. Even less, now that no Prime lives. But you, dear Skystreaker, you are one of the few."

"I don't think I follow..."

"Your 'father' rewrote your memories," Star Saber explained. "A barbaric operation, no doubt, that turned you into the rebellious, insolent degenerate you now are. When you left me, you were obedient, you knew your purpose. And your guardian changed all of that. He changed who you were. But fate is on my side, as it has drawn you and I together once more."

Skystreaker rose to her feet somewhat groggily. Her face had contorted into a look of disgust. Clearly, Star Saber's words had struck the wrong chord with her.

"I don't know you," she said again. "And I don't care about you or your whack-job religion, or your prophecies, or how much of a 'degenerate' I am. My father practically tried to kill me last time I saw him, so forgive me if that makes me doubt your 'story'. Honestly, I'd prefer Cyclonus' hospitality. At least that guy has class. Whatever you've got of it is completely overshadowed by how loony you are."

Star Saber did not pay much attention to her words. Instead, he stepped forwards and with his right hand reached out and grabbed her by the neck. Her slender frame may have offered her speed and agility, however it also made her lighter than most Decepticons. Star Saber picked her up off of her feet with ease. Her face contorted with discomfort as he looked her in the optics, examining her closely.

"You will understand, soon enough. You, and the other life you carry."

* * *

General Cyclonus stood in the command centre of his warship, the _Tempest_, watching the numerous holographic monitors before him. Bridge personnel, mostly soldiers of varying sorts, were scattered about working at different stations. The command centre was deep in the centre of the ship, far from any weak points. A tactically sound design, as such a place would make an appealing target for the enemy.

There were no Vehicons on board this vessel. Cyclonus believed that those drones were mostly useless, fodder at best, pawns at the most. A means of distracting the enemy, yet the resources required to replace them usually outweighed their usefulness. Every Decepticon on this ship was a soldier, whether they be marksmen, regular infantry, engineers, medics or any combination thereof. They all had names, their own identities, their own stories to tell. And Cyclonus cared about each and every one of them. He did not punish mistakes made by his troops with death, unlike his counterpart Megatron who had made a habit of killing those who failed him. Ruling with fear would only lead to trepidation amongst the ranks. Cyclonus wanted every one of his soldiers to be at the top of their game and focused on their tasks. The fear of being killed by their own commanding officer would not have helped matters.

It was a shame then, he mused, that Star Saber was leading so many of them astray.

"General." One of the slimmer Decepticons nearby called out abruptly, derailing Cyclonus' train of thought. He approached the technician, who had brought up a map of some unspecified region of the continent on his terminal's screen. "One of our scouts has reported an Autobot presence, on the outskirts of a city." He pointed one finger at the map on the screen. "The place known as 'Las Vegas'. The Autobots appear to have broken into a compound."

Cyclonus peered at the screen. The Autobots would have been shielding their life signatures, so in this particular situation they had only the word of the aforementioned scout to go on concerning the location of their enemies.

"And why, I wonder, would they be 'breaking in' anywhere?" Cyclonus said aloud. The technician, the Decepticon emblem emblazoned upon his chest, considered the question for a moment. However, he seemed uncertain as to whether he should answer. "Surely, the Autobots are law-abiding citizens here on Earth?" Of course, Cyclonus knew why they might be breaking the laws here. They were fugitives, framed in an elaborate scheme started by that human, Carver. All the while Carver figuratively held the Seal of Nova Prime over their heads, as a means of getting what he wanted from them.

The door to the command centre slid open then. Cyclonus turned around, viewing the new arrival with a neutral gaze. He had half-expected Star Saber to come striding on in, only to feel somewhat surprised when he saw a wounded Dragstrip limp into the room. The Decepticon scout had a nasty gash in his chest, close to where his spark chamber would have been located. He clutched at the wound with one hand. Bright blue energon fluid leaked out of the gash, as well as from a jagged hole that had been shot into one leg.

"Dragstrip," Cyclonus said carefully. This particular Decepticon had been in charge of the squad that Star Saber had sent to eliminate the Autobots, the one that Star Saber had 'neglected' to inform him about. It was probably no surprise that the squad had been killed, with only Dragstrip alive to report what had happened. "Back from Star Saber's errand, are you?"

Dragstrip continued limping forwards some distance before he stopped a few metres from Cyclonus. He looked agitated, his face contorting into a pained wince with each step he took.

"I was unaware that Star Saber did not tell you about my mission," Dragstrip explained. His voice was strained, the pain taking its toll upon him.

"A failed mission, at that," Cyclonus countered. "You should go to the infirmary and then, when you are fit enough to walk properly, you can come and grovel to me."

"I only want to apologise, sir," Dragstrip said. He was being abnormally humble. Cyclonus raised an optic ridge upon hearing this latest statement. "And I want to go out there again, but with your permission. The Autobots are few in number. Give me a squad and I will terminate the lot of them." Despite his strained tone, there was eagerness in his voice as he spoke the last part. Dragstrip was a glory hound, at least he would have been had he gained any significant glory in the first place. He had also been one most affected by their prolonged time spent upon this ship travelling the stars. The narrow corridors and small living quarters became mundane very quickly. Spending years out in space, rarely encountering friends or foes could take its toll on the minds of some. It was no surprise that Dragstrip was so enthusiastic to get out of the ship now that they were on Earth. And there were Autobots to kill. Most Decepticons would relish such an opportunity.

"I would not send you back out in the state you are in," Cyclonus said. "I wouldn't send any one of my soldiers into battle in your condition. You are a liability to yourself and would be so for any squad you took under your command."

"I can get these Autobots for you, sir," Dragstrip said. His voice became laced with an increasingly desperate tone. "Just give me some soldiers."

"Get your wounds repaired first," Cyclonus replied. "And then come back to me." He knew Dragstrip would be back. He would get the most rudimentary repair job done before coming back and would likely still be leaking energon when Cyclonus sent him after the Autobots. However, time was of the essence in the current circumstances. Cyclonus could not wait around for Dragstrip, not when the Autobots were within reach.

Dragstrip looked as if he was about to protest but Cyclonus shook his head, silencing the Decepticon before he had even opened his mouth.

"No complaints," Cyclonus stated. "Leave. Come back here when you are not in such a sorry state."

Dragstrip obeyed, turning around before he left the room. There was no doubt in Cyclonus' mind that Dragstrip would be back out there soon enough, trying desperately to seek whatever glory he could in killing the Autobots. Cyclonus had no problem with this, as long as it did not endanger other Decepticons. He had been a glory hound himself and still was, in some ways. The glory of tearing off an opponent's head in the gladiatorial battles in the Pits of Kaon was a feeling that could not be duplicated in many other circumstances.

He turned and set his attention back on the technician and the terminal he stood before. The technician looked to Cyclonus inquisitively.

"What are we going to do about these Autobots, sir? We know their location."

"If they are there, I will meet them." He would take a few of his better warriors with him. He wanted to make sure the Autobots did not escape. Going to meet them on the battlefield himself would, in his view, increase the chances of preventing such an eventuality. He would also make sure to keep Star Saber out of this as for as long as he could, as that Autobot religious zealot had recently proved himself as a certified troublemaker. Star Saber's teachings and followers were simply dividing the soldiers on board this cruiser. Not even Cyclonus knew which of his soldiers he could fully trust and which ones had been polluted with Star Saber's "teachings", if one could even call them that.

"Keep watch upon things here, Dead End," Cyclonus said to the technician. Dead End was also a soldier, like many on board this cruiser. And like many of those, he served a dual role here. They did not have the numbers to have very many specialists in any single field.

"Isn't Vortex your second-in-command, sir?"

"He would be, were it not for how I believe he may not be as completely trustworthy as he once was." Cyclonus was not entirely sure about Dead End's overall trustworthiness. As for Vortex, that Combaticon had fallen under Star Saber's sway almost completely. "Report to me Star Saber's actions, if you see any that are out of the ordinary."

"Of course, General." Dead End nodded.

Cyclonus departed the command centre at that point, heading onwards to gather a squad. He had the feeling that the battle ahead would be a _glorious_ one.


	34. The Seal

**The Seal**

A service tunnel took both Ultra Magnus and Jack along the edge of the underground facility. Much of the place had been evacuated, at least at first glance, with red lights flashing at intervals along the concrete tunnel. The Autobot Commander travelled along in truck mode, with Jack in the passenger seat and the window open, his head out as he regarded the tunnel ahead. The room containing the Seal of Nova Prime would be down here somewhere. Wheeljack, who remained with Rafael, transmitted some more detailed information passed onto him from the young computer expert. As a result, Ultra Magnus had schematics to refer to.

Jack was astounded by the size of the underground facility. Had no one noticed any of this? Something to this scale, kept from public eye, must have taken a lot of effort. A lot of disinformation spread through the media for one, all the stuff of conspiracy theories. That was what this was, was it not? Nothing but a great big conspiracy. A black ops group experimenting on alien technology would have made for quite the story on some loony's conspiracy theory Internet blog. Of course, it would appear that the 'loony' in question would be right on the money.

Ultra Magnus went into a sharp left turn that caused Jack to bounce in his seat. The Autobot went barrelling through a loading bay door, tearing much of it away through sheer force of impact. Beyond it was an open warehouse-type space where numerous metal containers were stacked upon one another. Ultra Magnus went by them all and through the double doors at the other end, taking them both off of their hinges along with a chunk of wall. Charging through the corridor behind, Ultra Magnus took another sharp turn, this time to the right, putting him straight through a locked metal door and into the vast laboratory and research space beyond.

This was the place, Jack figured, just by looking around. A bank of computers were off to one side, with pieces of Cybertronian technology laid out on concrete slabs by the opposite wall. In the centre was a large glass case, suspended between the floor and ceiling with sturdy metal pylons. Cables snaked across the floor from its base, linking it to computers and other monitoring equipment. Jack climbed out of Ultra Magnus' vehicle mode, allowing the Autobot Commander to transform into his taller biped form.

"That's the Seal," he said, looking towards the central case. Jack followed his gaze, taking in the large circular plate set upon a metal stand within the glass. The glass itself looked to be very thick, reinforced with steel along its sides at spaced intervals. Across the laboratory was another loading bay-type door, presumably to bring equipment straight in here for optimum research efficiency. The lighting was dim, with the red alert lights continuing to pulsate from their places on the walls and ceiling.

"What does it do?" Jack asked. He clasped his shotgun, surveying the room cautiously. _It was too easy_, he thought. This place could not have been evacuated so quickly. Something like this, as important as it apparently was, would have been kept under heavy guard, even in the event of an attack like this.

Ultra Magnus approached the case and put a hand to it. There was a crackle of energy and he withdrew his hand back, a pained grimace crossing his features.

"I didn't think the Taskforce had energy shields at its disposal," he said, looking back at Jack. The human made his way over to the computers some distance away on his left. Most were still switched on, all of these on their standby screens and locked from access unless one had login credentials.

"You think Deadeye gave them those?" Jack asked.

"The shields?" Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics as he examined the thick reinforced case. "Maybe. And maybe they gave him energon in return."

"Or just cable TV," Jack replied.

"What?" Ultra Magnus glanced over at him, having missed that remark.

"Don't worry about it." Jack put his shotgun on the desk nearest to him, ensuring that the safety was on. He then looked to the computer monitor in front of him and mulled over how to get by the login. If Rafael had been with him, a login screen would not be a problem.

"There's probably some way to turn off the shielding," Jack said.

"Or we could just blast it," Ultra Magnus replied. He still had his heavy rifle, currently clipped to his back. They could take down the whole case and its supports. He seemed to reconsider this suggestion, however, his face taking on a serious, if thoughtful, look. "But there's no telling what that might do. The Seal could be a weapon. Knowing our experiences with this sort of thing, it most likely is one. I wouldn't want to set it off."

Jack was about to make a suggestion, only he did not get a chance to when the sound of a familiar engine roaring broke the relative quietness within the laboratory. Deadeye, in vehicle mode, came screeching into the room through the hole left by Ultra Magnus. He transformed rapidly, coming to stand tall in biped form with both pistols raised. What made this particularly odd was how he had them both pointed at Ultra Magnus. Jack looked up at him and saw a conflicted look on his face, one that appeared to be almost strained, as if he were in pain.

"Come to help out, Deadeye?" Ultra Magnus asked. "Running off in the middle of combat is a fairly serious offence."

"This ain't Cybertron," Deadeye said. Ultra Magnus regarded the two guns pointed at him with a mix of curiosity and outright irritation.

"You're pointing your weapons at me, Deadeye," he said. "Why? I thought we had come to an agreement. You told me you didn't want to help the Taskforce harm Autobots."

"I don't." Deadeye's voice croaked as he said this. Something must have been causing him pain, yet from what Jack could see he was practically unscathed.

"Then care to explain to me why you're pointing two guns my way, soldier?" Ultra Magnus had narrowed his optics, likely surveying the situation carefully and weighing his options. He would be taking in every detail he could, just in case things turned violent. Jack could only stand on the sidelines and watch. He was not exactly equipped to fight a pissed off Autobot.

"They're in...my head..." Deadeye struggled to speak, as if some kind of invisible force was trying to prevent him. His hands were shaking, Jack noticed, an abnormality for Deadeye. On any other day he would have been able to shoot the wings off of a fly with those guns, now it looked like he was trying to let go of them yet his hands refused to obey the command. They maintained their grip, tightening it in such a way as to cause them to visibly shake.

"I'm a freak," he said.

"I don't understand." Ultra Magnus took a step forwards. Deadeye responded by pulling the trigger on the Decepticon laser he carried in his left hand, planting a pink bolt of energy in Ultra Magnus' chest. The Autobot Commander fell backwards, hitting the case where the Seal of Nova Prime was contained. The energy shield flared and Ultra Magnus shouted in pain before falling forwards and landing on his side. A scorched hole had been burned into the armour on the left part of his chest, his back scorched from the contact it had made with the energy field. Jack's eyes went wide as he witnessed all of this and his hands went for his shotgun.

Before he could grab it, a loud gunshot echoed from across the hall. The shotgun was sent spinning off of the desk and onto the floor, part of its barrel cracked from the force of the shot that had hit it. Jack looked to the source of the shot, his gaze going to Colonel Carver who had quietly entered the room seconds earlier. He clasped a large chrome-plated pistol in both hands, his Wildey magnum, and he aimed it in Jack's direction.

Ultra Magnus was up on his feet at that moment, his jaw clenched from the pain of his new wound as he lunged for Deadeye. Both Autobots hit the floor and began to grapple one another, with Ultra Magnus prying one of Deadeye's guns free from his grip, sending it sliding a considerable distance along the floor. While both Autobots fought, Carver took a step forwards and pulled the trigger on his pistol again.

Jack dived to the floor behind the bench as the shot hit one of the monitors, causing it to explode. Sparks and shards of glass and plastic rained down over him, his heart thumping quickly in his chest as he considered his options. He could expect no help from Ultra Magnus, not when the Autobot Commander had his own problem to deal with. Deadeye fired a shot off at that moment with his Decepticon laser pistol, the pink bolt of energy slamming into the seal above. Chunks of rubble fell down upon the floor while Deadeye squirmed free of Ultra Magnus' grasp. He jumped to his feet, as did Ultra Magnus, and the latter was quick to swat aside Deadeye's outstretched arm, throwing off the shot he fired, sending it flying into the far wall where it blasted a smouldering hole in the rock.

"Darby!" Colonel Carver shouted. He took a few more steps forwards, ignoring the two fighting Autobots nearby. Jack remained prone on the floor behind the computers, his hands scrambling for the holster at his waist. His right hand found the grip of the Beretta 92FS there and clasped it, pulling it free.

"I had high hopes for you, you know that?" Carver shouted over the noise, as Ultra Magnus threw Deadeye against a wall. The younger Autobot recovered quickly, both his guns dropped as he lunged for Ultra Magnus and sent them both into the shielded case. The energy shield crackled upon the contact, searing Ultra Magnus' back. He emitted a yell of pain as he threw Deadeye off of him before setting upon him once again, punching him across the face. The heavy rifle he had had clipped to his back had fallen to the wayside, beyond the reach of both Autobots.

Jack switched off the safety on the pistol. He stuck it over the top of the bench and started firing blindly, letting off several rounds. None of them hit Carver, who remained standing where he was while the bullets whizzed harmlessly by.

"But you had to go and choose them over us," Carver continued. He took aim and his Wildey thundered once again, the noise enough to make the Beretta sound pathetic in comparison. The shot hit the top of the bench, tearing through a computer hard drive, knocking it onto the floor where it landed somewhat painfully on Jack's legs. "You didn't just betray your country, Darby. You betrayed your _entire species._"

Jack leaned his head around the end of the bench and took aim at Carver. However, he was forced to duck behind it once again as Carver sent another powerful round his way. This one clipped the end of the metal bench, enough to tear a hole clean through it. The Colonel adjusted his aim slightly and planted the next shot through the bench. The powerful cartridge penetrated the metal easily, but much to Jack's fortune it deflected off of one of the sturdier supports and made its home in the floor near his chest.

Deadeye had pulled out a large serrated blade and slashed it in Ultra Magnus' direction. The veteran Autobot avoided the attack and one hand went to grab hold of Deadeye's outstretched arm, but the younger Autobot kicked him in the stomach, sending him back a few steps. Deadeye jumped forwards, with Ultra Magnus grappling him as he lunged once more. Deadeye's blade found itself embedded in Ultra Magnus' right shoulder. The Autobot Commander yelled and stumbled, his face contorting with pain as bright blue energon fluid trickled from around the embedded blade. It was not a fatal wound, but it was one that would certainly impair him.

Jack stuck his pistol around the bench and emptied the magazine in Carver's general direction. He felt trapped, with a hostile Autobot on one side and a very hostile human being on the other. Stuck on the floor behind the bank of computers, Jack could feel a few cables and wires digging into his back where he lay. One of them was especially wide, thick and black, and it snaked its way across the floor. It went towards the metal and glass case that contained the Seal of Nova Prime. A power cable? Perhaps. He needed some kind of diversion if he was going to get out of here alive.

"Come out, Darby," Carver called. His voice was its usual stern tone. It reminded Jack of Ultra Magnus, in a way, save for the fact that Ultra Magnus was not taunting him and out to kill him. "I can't have you getting in the way now, can I? You've already done enough damage."

Jack released the empty magazine in his Beretta, allowing it to clatter to the floor before sliding in a full one. He slowly stuck one hand around the bench, feeling along the thick cable. He pulled it back abruptly, just in time for Carver to fire another round, this one slamming into the cable. Sparks flew and warning lights on one of the computers started flashing.

Ultra Magnus tackled Deadeye at that moment, sending him flying by the computers where he landed with a loud _clank_ upon the cement floor. Jack seized his chance as Ultra Magnus jumped upon the stunned Deadeye, knife still embedded in his right shoulder as he used his other arm to hold Deadeye down. Lifting his right hand, he gripped the hilt of the blade stuck in him and pulled. It was a quick yank, straight outwards, but the pain was intense enough to cause Ultra Magnus to grunt, his face contorting into an agonized expression that was replaced with a look steely determination a moment later.

Jack stood up from behind the computers while both Autobots blocked Carver's view of him. He looked down at the thick cable and where it had been damaged. Instead of trying his luck with the computers to shut everything down, it would appear that a simple, if cruder method would prevail here. From his pack, he pulled a pair of grenades, his last two. Yanking the pins from both, he dropped them behind the bench and started running.

The explosion obliterated the computers, severing their control on the systems within the laboratory. There was a flash at the reinforced container where the Seal was kept as the energy shield failed. Jack ran for cover behind it as Ultra Magnus came stumbling by him, set upon by Deadeye who grappled with the Autobot Commander for control of the knife. Jack heard a gunshot behind him as Carver caught sight of him, the shot pinging off of the reinforced case. Another shot went by Jack with only a few inches of distance between him and it. He glanced around the case, watching as Carver began to reload his pistol. The Colonel was apparently fearless, given how he was standing in the open. Jack brought his Beretta to bear and took aim. Carver saw this and aborted his reload, instead turning to race for the wrecked doorway. There, he dived, somersaulting behind the partially broken wall as Jack started shooting. Bullets connected with the wall, kicking up small clouds of cement dust. Carver remained in cover as he reloaded his Wildey pistol. It would appear that his fearlessness did not get in the way of his common sense.

"That Seal remaining hidden was all that was stopping the Decepticons from running rampant," Carver shouted. "As soon as they detect it, they'll be on us. Is that what you want, Darby?"

Jack did not give him the satisfaction of a reply. Instead, he continued firing, sending rounds in Carver's direction while he remained in cover. Suppressing fire, for all the good it would do him.

Ultra Magnus and Deadeye had since moved their brawl to the other end of the room. They continued to fight for control of the blade, with Deadeye on top of Ultra Magnus as he attempted to bring the blade down into his chest and his spark chamber in turn.

"Would you bring the wrath of the Decepticons on an entire city, all to benefit your escape?" Carver demanded. His voice had taken on a more hostile tone. He did have a point, Jack realized. They were just outside of Las Vegas. If the Decepticons wanted the Seal so badly, they would be more than free to do what they wanted once they had it in their possession. Carver had been the only one with any sway over them. Without the Seal, that sway was gone. Jack realised that developing second thoughts now, in the middle of a fight, was hardly opportune.

"Choosing them, over your own flesh and blood brethren? You disgust me, Darby. The Autobots are as much of an enemy as the Decepticons."

"Is that why you had the President killed?" Jack realised he had no more magazines for his Beretta. He did have several shotgun shells, the only issue with that being his shotgun lay well out of reach and had a noticeably damaged barrel.

"He was an obstacle to progress," Carver replied. "Humanity's entering a new age, Darby. We have to be ready to defend ourselves from alien aggressors. That means we need a strong leader."

"Who? You?" Jack scoffed. There was no reply. Instead, Carver leaned around the ruined wall and fired off a shot. It pinged off of the case, sending cracks along its form. Jack ducked back into cover.

* * *

Ultra Magnus was holding the blade mere inches from his chest. Deadeye had a crazed look in his optics as he struggled to bring it closer. The Autobot Commander kicked out with one leg, knocking Deadeye back somewhat, allowing him to snatch the blade from his fingers. He pushed forwards, pinning Deadeye to the wall before he plunged the blade deep into his chest. It found its home square inside Deadeye's spark chamber, life energon pouring from the wound as Deadeye's optics widened from the pain.

Ultra Magnus went to take a step back, the hole blasted into his armour at his shoulder flaring in pain with each movement he made. Deadeye, however, fell forwards and the Autobot planted both arms against him, his optics looking up into his own. Ultra Magnus was startled for a moment, expecting another attack, only for Deadeye to relax against him.

"Thank you," he muttered. The light in his optics died and he fell completely limp. Ultra Magnus let him fall to the floor. What had gotten into Deadeye? The Taskforce had exerted some kind of influence over him. That was worrisome; all the more proof that this human organization was a serious threat.

Ultra Magnus turned to look to Jack, who was exchanging small arms fire with Colonel Carver. He stepped towards the human, seeing that Carver was standing behind the ruined wall near where the doors into the lab had been. He considered his options here, his gaze going to the heavy rifle that had fallen from his back moments earlier. It was nearby and he walked over to it, hefting the powerful weapon in both hands before turning in Carver's direction. Getting rid of him would likely put a stop to the Taskforce's plans, at least for a while. There would always be someone else willing to pick up the pieces and start again.

Carver saw him and started running. Ultra Magnus pulled the trigger on the heavy rifle, sending a powerful blast of energy into the wall. The _thump_ of the explosion echoed loudly throughout the laboratory, causing the ground to vibrate underfoot for a moment. Dust blossomed forth and chunks of concrete and metal debris rained down around the impact zone. As for Carver, he was nowhere to be seen. If he had been caught in the explosion, he could either be in several pieces or buried under the rubble. Either possibility was adequate. Ultra Magnus lowered the weapon and looked down at Jack.

"Is Deadeye...?" He went to ask, but Ultra Magnus interrupted him.

"I'm afraid so," he replied. Jack's gaze went past him and to where Deadeye lay. The human appeared sullen for a moment. Ultra Magnus had been unsure of what kind of relationship the pair had had, although now he saw that it had been a fairly significant friendship. Whatever the Taskforce had done to Deadeye, it had not left him with any choice other than to fight or die. That seemed to be a recurring theme in recent events: they had been boxed into a corner, hunted by humans and Decepticons. Fighting or dying had been the only real options open to them. And Ultra Magnus sure as hell was not going to settle on the latter.

"The energy field around the Seal is gone," Jack said. "You can take it. Whatever it is." He added this last part with a dismissive shake of the head. His mood had soured, understandable after what had just happened. Still, Ultra Magnus needed him at the top of his game if he was going to get out of here in one piece.

"We're doing a service here, Jack," Ultra Magnus said. "The Taskforce has to be stopped. The Decepticons as well. By striking at their base of operations, we're delivering a crippling blow." He turned to where the Seal was contained. Against the glass, he placed one hand, making sure that the energy field was gone. Indeed it was, so he clasped both hands upon his rifle and turned it around, swinging the butt-end of the weapon against the reinforced glass. It cracked on impact, his Cybertronian strength more than enough to cause some damage. He swung again and again, each time sending more cracks through the thick glass. Finally, on a fifth swing, half of the glass case shattered, sending dozens of sizeable fragments of it falling upon the floor. He reached in with one hand and grabbed the circular plate. At this close proximity, he could properly examine the intricate Cybertronian designs etched upon its surface. It was thick, almost like an old-fashioned shield, yet not large enough to be practical as one. Oddly enough, it was warm to the touch. He felt a tingling sensation go up his arm as he grabbed hold of it. Judging from the symbols etched along the edges, this object was very, very old. The symbols themselves were from a long-dead Cybertronian dialect, if the history lessons he had gone through before the war had been working on accurate information.

"Do you know what it is?" Jack asked. Ultra Magnus shook his head.

"No." He placed it to his back, utilising a magnetic lock there. Whatever it was, it felt strangely comforting to be wearing. "We should get back to Wheeljack and Rafael."


	35. Metal Rain

**Metal Rain**

There was a fine line between anger and frustration. Carver treaded it, leaning more to the frustration side, as he made his way down the tunnel ahead. Red lights flashed around him and occasionally an explosion on the ground above would cause the entire place to rumble, trails of dirt and dust falling from the ceiling in response. His Wildey pistol was firmly set in the holster at his waist, the safety on, the barrel still warm from his encounter with Jack Darby. Now there was someone who had proven to be more troublesome than they were worth. Still, he could at least admire the young man for having come this far, even if he had chosen the wrong side in the fight.

Carver took an elevator to the highest sub-level. By now, the facility had been completely evacuated, with only combat personnel left behind in its defence. The operations room, he found, was empty and somewhat a mess as technicians had done what they could to destroy the computer hard drives here. Van Cleef was waiting for him, his face wearing a frown.

"The Autobots are moving out," Van Cleef said. "Two of them have started southwards, those still in the facility are making their way back outside."

"What about the reinforcements?" Carver asked. The main view-screen at the wall was still working. The Autobots were marked with red, each of them traced now that the Taskforce had gained a lock on their life signatures. Carver was not fussed if they got away, as they would simply be able to track the lot of them. Energon detectors and satellite imagery could work wonders.

"They'll be here in a few minutes," Van Cleef answered. "There is a problem, Colonel."

Carver was not surprised to hear this. He raised an eyebrow, enough of a hint for Van Cleef to respond.

"Someone got into the mainframe. Downloaded a lot of sensitive stuff." Van Cleef sounded concerned. Carver knew why immediately, and it was not simply because someone had played 'hacker' on their systems.

"What did they get?" Carver asked.

"Just about everything incriminating," Van Cleef said. "No amount of political sway can save us from prison if they leak it to the media. It'll be a shit-storm."

"A shit-storm we can't afford," Carver added, concern lacing his voice. They would have the names of every benefactor, both political and corporate, who had been funding the Taskforce. They would even have details concerning Carver's overall plans regarding certain government figures. He would have to assume that they had everything, at least everything that could get him and the entire Taskforce in very deep trouble. All this because his people had been unable to take out Jack, and Rafael Esquivel for that matter. They were simply two people, aided by the Autobots certainly, but the Taskforce had the means of taking them down. What had gone so wrong? Carver had been putting this all together for months. He had not come this far to see everything go down in flames so quickly.

"We'll get them," Carver said. He was not sure whether he was just saying that to reassure himself, or Van Cleef. Or both. Van Cleef did not look like he was bothered much by what had happened. As for Carver, his calm and collected exterior was finally starting to crack

Something started beeping from one of the remaining computers. Both men turned to it, aware that a red warning light was flashing. The main view-screen, displaying a map of the city and the surrounding desert, had taken on a fairly large blip marked with the immediately recognizable Decepticon logo. Carver walked up to the computer and tapped in a few commands, bringing up a still working camera feed from outside. The feed flashed up on one corner of the main screen, the camera pointed in the direction of the new Decepticon contact.

"Christ almighty," Van Cleef muttered when he saw the feed. "That's Cyclonus' personal craft, ain't it?"

Van Cleef was indeed correct: the personal 'yacht' of General Cyclonus had appeared in the air over the western part of Las Vegas, its hulking black and grey form casting a shadow that had begun to creep towards the compound. The ship was on its way here. Carver figured he should be grateful that Cyclonus had not brought his entire cruiser along. Manipulating the camera feed, Carver zoomed in as far as it could, giving him a somewhat closer if blurrier view of the lower part of the Decepticon spacecraft. At the bottom of the ship, a ramp was open and he could see the shapes of about half a dozen Decepticons spread across it, each with a hand to railing. They were going to come down here, Carver could see this now, and they were unlikely to be on friendly terms. They must have detected the fighting, Carver thought, or even the Seal. And they were here to kill Autobots and take the Seal of Nova Prime for their own. Carver had gone to great lengths to ensure the secrecy of this facility. It was a shame that it all had to go bad now, and all so quickly as well.

"People are going to notice that," Van Cleef stated, flatly.

"So what? Let them see it. Let them see the kind of enemy we're fighting." Carver could turn this whole situation to his advantage, if he played his cards right. "They'll beg us to save them now. From the Decepticons, and the Autobots."

"A lot of people will die."

"So what? Since when have you cared about collateral damage?"

Van Cleef just shrugged.

"Just saying..."

He nodded his head, seemingly agreeing with Carver's statements. Carver cared little for what he really thought, as long as he did his job and followed orders.

"Get a team together, Captain," Carver said, turning around to face him. "We're going after Darby and his Autobot friends."

* * *

Minutes earlier, outside, in the compound, Wheeljack waited for Ultra Magnus. The fighting here had practically ended, with most of the Taskforce defenders either dead or having retreated. Wildstrike had been waiting for him when he had emerged from the underground facility, with Rafael in tow. Wheeljack raced up to her, scanning the surrounding area with his optics for any hostiles. The whole place, despite looking like a warzone, appeared to be clear.

Wildstrike turned to look at him as he approached.

"Where's the Commander?" She asked.

"The chief's on his way," Wheeljack replied. "In the meantime, Rafael's got some important documents and there's some General in the city somewhere who could help us." He paused, noticing the absence of the others. "Where's Bumblebee? And the cop?"

"Doubletake and Bumblebee have started for the rendezvous point, outside of the city," Wildstrike said.

"Call them back. We'll need their help." Wheeljack looked towards the front of the compound. The street outside had become packed with police cars and civilian vehicles. Few of the humans were game enough to actually enter the compound and the police were likely awaiting heavier backup. Wheeljack figured that the military would get involved soon enough, although the Taskforce was still around in some form judging from the black helicopter that buzzed around the compound. It did not fire at them, it simply circled the area, presumably keeping watch on the Autobot intruders. Plumes of smoke wafted high into the air from the many spot fires and burning vehicles that had been caused by the fighting.

Ultra Magnus appeared from the main building then, walking through the smoke with the heavy rifle in his arms. There was a freshly created hole in his armour, by the right shoulder, that leaked blue energon fluid. His frame was dented and marred with scorch marks, but otherwise the burly Autobot Commander was alive and mostly intact. He was followed by Jack, who had since dumped his backpack full of ammunition in order to have a lighter load and greater mobility.

"Commander," Wildstrike said, her optics lighting up noticeably. Wheeljack saw this and gave a coy smile. He had always figured there was something between the two. Being in harm's way could bring out something like that. Still, Wildstrike was restrained enough to not embrace the Commander. Instead, she stood up straight and saluted him as he approached.

"The human authorities have us surrounded," she told him.

"We can breakthrough," he said. "Just try and limit collateral damage."

As he spoke, he moved one hand to reach around his back, pulling free his latest find. He held out the Seal of Nova Prime in all its glory. To Wheeljack, it appeared to be nothing more than a glorified dinner plate.

"We'll have to keep this safe," Ultra Magnus said. "Until we can find a way to get it back to Cybertron."

Wheeljack took the Seal in one hand for a closer look. Ultra Magnus eyed him cautiously, as if he did not completely trust the Wrecker with such an item. This was probably the case, even if Ultra Magnus had no problem with Wheeljack watching his back in a fight. As for the Seal, it was covered with all manner of intricate Cybertronian glyphs, most of which Wheeljack had never seen before. He was no historian, although he could guess that the glyphs were of some long dead language. What else would one find on an ancient relic? As he held it, he could feel an odd tingling sensation in his hand. The object was warm to the touch. Was it simply heat from the sun doing this? Or something more? Wheeljack hardly had a chance to ponder the matter, as he was suddenly hit by a powerful gust of wind, as if a bomb had just gone off nearby.

There was a thunderous _boom_ from somewhere high up, followed by a brilliant white flash as a Cybertronian dark matter drive activated, 'jumping' a ship into the air right over the city. A strong concussive wave of air rushed halfway across the city, causing Wheeljack and the other Autobots to stumble slightly. Rafael was knocked over, his glasses falling from his face, while numerous windows across the neighbourhood shattered from the force of the wave. Alarms, both household and car ones, went off all across town. The police cars parked out front had had every window explode simultaneously, showering glass all over the street. The cops were momentarily stunned by the unexpected blast. And high above, gradually descending, was the personal transport craft of Decepticon General Cyclonus.

The ship, its form uneven, with numerous modifications jutting out from a standard Decepticon transport ship frame, cast a shadow over the compound. The lower ramp was open and Decepticons stood upon it, waiting for an opportunity to jump for the ground. Wheeljack looked up at it, as did the others. He knew then that things had just become a whole lot more complicated.

"Shit," Jack muttered from where he stood nearby. He was not the only one to have such a reaction. The police beyond the wrecked front gate of the compound had apparently lost interest in the Autobots and were instead gazing up at the alien ship, struck with both awe and fear.

_And that's not even the full ship,_ Wheeljack mused. Cyclonus still had his cruiser elsewhere. The fact that only his personal craft had arrived indicated that maybe the General himself had decided to pay a visit.

One of the plasma cannons on the underbelly of the ship fired. A searing ball of blue energy erupted forth, leaving a light blue vapour trail in its wake. The blast struck the front of the administration building within the compound, causing the entire front section of the structure to erupt in flame. Smoke and debris billowed forth, the ground shaking underfoot, fragments of brick and metal raining down all around. As soon as the shooting started, so did the panic. The frightened screams of civilians could be heard from beyond the compound as the city came under alien attack.

Wheeljack looked to Ultra Magnus.

"You take the Seal," the Autobot Commander ordered. "I'll get Bumblebee and Doubletake to back you up."

"Where do I take it?" Wheeljack asked. Cyclonus' ship continued to descend, its plasma cannons charging.

"Anywhere but here. Wildstrike and I will cover you." Ultra Magnus was entrusting him with the ancient relic. Wheeljack wondered himself whether that was a good idea or not, although he was not about to say so. He had no idea where he would take the Seal, but he knew keeping away from the Decepticon ship would be a good start.

"We should find General Williamson," Rafael interjected. "He's in the city..."

The conversation was cut short when two plasma cannons fired, the blasts of energy slamming into the ground nearby. The Autobots stumbled and scattered, as did Jack and Rafael, with Wheeljack racing for the front gate, the Seal clutched in one hand. Rafael and Jack followed after him, their hands over their heads in an effort to protect them from the rain of dirt and chunks of tarmac that rained down upon them from the explosions. Wheeljack made his way out onto the street, looking back at Ultra Magnus and Wildstrike, both of whom had started taking shots at the ship. It would be a fairly futile effort, but it was enough of a distraction to allow Wheeljack to slip away.

Most of the police officers out here had taken cover by their vehicles as Wheeljack came running out onto the road. He did his best to avoid stepping on anyone, flattening a few parked police cars as he did so, before getting onto an empty chunk of road. Here, he transformed, ensuring that the Seal wound up in the trunk. He flung his doors open, allowing both Rafael and Jack to clamber inside. As soon as they were in, he shut his doors and hit the accelerator, flooring it as another blast of plasma struck the front wall of the compound behind him.

A few police cars were sent into the air from the force of the explosion, the stone wall vaporizing within the heat, rubble falling down all over the road. Most of the cops here began to run for it, hopelessly outmatched as they were.

Wheeljack went speeding down the road ahead, passing by industrial zones, his mind abuzz as he tried to work out where he should be going. "Anywhere but here" hardly made things easy for him. As it stood, he had scratched the idea of heading into the desert, since the ship would have a far easier time of finding him out in the open. The city was the only chance he had, he would just have to hope that the people would evacuate before any significant damage could be caused.

So he kept driving. He put as much distance between him and the ship as he could, and he kept going. As long as Ultra Magnus and Wildstrike kept it preoccupied, he should be all right. All the while he had an ancient relic and two humans he had to keep an eye on.

_This day just keeps getting better and better,_ he thought.

* * *

"The Seal moves into the city."

Hardtop looked up from his seat. The transport ship rumbled around him, the cramped confines providing only as much space as was necessary. Star Saber stood down the end near the pilot's seat, viewing the holographic displays as the transports sensors locked onto the relic in question. At the rear of the craft, the exit ramp had been lowered, providing a sweeping view of the city far below them. The transport itself was only small, one of three that Cyclonus' cruiser had docked. Since the ground-bridge was out of commission, these old, rickety transports were the only real means they had to get from the cruiser to the ground.

Hardtop was a fairly average-sized Decepticon, with broad shoulders and a green-and-purple finish. His optics were shielded underneath a reflective yellow visor, his mouth concealed underneath a battle-plate. He was one of several Decepticon soldiers on board the transport, all of them followers of Star Saber. They had departed shortly after Cyclonus and his loyal soldiers had, keeping on their trail in order to determine where exactly they were headed and why. Now it was clear: the Seal of Nova Prime was in the city below, and with it the means of restoring Nova Prime.

"Autobot life signatures," the pilot announced. "About five of them. One carries the Seal."

"We will intercept him," Star Saber declared. "Bring us down, here." He pointed to a spot on the main display, where a map of the city had formed. "That should put us in their path."

Hardtop checked over his rifle. It was a long, grey-metal one, capable of firing a dense blast of plasma at supersonic speeds. A precision weapon with the power of punching a hole through most known armours. Only a skilled marksman could utilise such an unwieldy weapon to its full potential. Hardtop had been shooting since he was a youngling. His senses of sight and hearing were abnormally sensitive compared to the average Cybertronian. These abnormalities, as well as his skill with a weapon, had turned him into a very effective soldier, one who specialised in reconnaissance in particular. Cyclonus had happily accepted him into his ranks after Hardtop had been found living out in the wastes on one of Cybertron's moons, years after the war had ended.

Now Hardtop was in a position to make a serious difference. Instead of raids and scouting missions where little of use would be found, Hardtop had the opportunity to take part in something greater than him. Autobots, Decepticons, it would not matter when Nova Prime returned. With him, Cybertron could be returned to not only its former glory, but to something even greater than that. The Cybertronian race as a whole would be able to claim its rightful place as the superior race in the galaxy, as Nova Prime had always intended.

"The humans have certainly detected us by now," Vortex said. The Combaticon sat in the seat across from Hardtop. He looked over to Star Saber, who had turned around to face the squad. "And Cyclonus will definitely know we're here now. We could end up shooting at our own."

"What does it matter?" Star Saber asked, one optic ridge raised in an inquisitive manner, making for a rare display of emotion from him. "We will do what we must to claim the Seal. It has been my mission for millennia. And it has become your mission as well. The humans are the last thing that should concern you, Vortex." He paused, regarding the soldiers seated before him with his usually unreadable gaze. All that showed of his face whilst he wore the battle-plate were his cold blue optics, both devoid of any real emotion. It was his voice that portrayed his passion for the task at hand, the refined tones having long since worked their way into Hardtop's head, persuading him to the cause. Sometimes he had doubts, sometimes he saw this whole 'cause' as nothing more than a means for Star Saber to attain glory for himself; however, the more he pondered what the Autobot pontiff had preached in the past, the less those doubts affected him until they were finally gone completely. They only came back now and again, now in particular as Hardtop headed into a fight. Star Saber had assured him that warriors on their path would be accepted into the great beyond upon death. They would be dying for a noble cause, as what could be more noble than reforming the glory of your race?

"Once the Seal of Nova Prime is in our possession, the differences between an 'Autobot' and a 'Decepticon' will become meaningless," Star Saber announced. "Those who believe will be saved. They will be the founders of the new age of Cybertron, with Nova Prime guiding the way. And those who do not believe will be judged and will be killed, lest they repent. There will be many who do not believe and many of those will refuse to change their ways. So they will die, sparing the new Cybertron of their atheism and the degeneracy it brings. None of them will be able to stand against Nova Prime."

Vortex nodded his head in agreement. Hardtop did the same, along with the other Decepticons on board. They would be doing a service, ridding the galaxy of the non-believers. Hardtop wondered if this included other species, such as humans, although he decided against asking. It was likely not the best time, not when they were about to land. The transport was setting down in a courtyard behind a few tall buildings, and through the open rear ramp Hardtop could see several panicked humans fleeing as the transport descended. Some of them did not run or scream and instead stood watching in awe as the large metal soldiers began rushing out of the craft. Hardtop was the first out, scanning the surrounding area with his optics. He noticed that one of the humans was holding up a cell-phone and was standing about thirty metres away, apparently fearless in the face of these Cybertronian warriors. The camera in the phone was most certainly filming the entire thing. Then again, secrecy was not something they cared much for anymore.

"Find a vantage point, Hardtop," Vortex said from behind him. "There are plenty to choose from."

Hardtop nodded in response. Indeed there were plenty, judging from the tall buildings around them. Utilising the grapple-gun built into his left arm, Hardtop picked the nearest of the buildings and sent the hook flying up high before it found home on the side of the building, close to the roof. There, it embedded itself into a concrete section, allowing Hardtop to go flying up after it.

The panic amongst the human population here was well underway.

* * *

The surface compound of the Vault facility was a mess. Carver had made his way into a garage located within an outbuilding, at the far edge of the compound. Yet even here, there had been damage done, with the garage door having been blown halfway off of its motor. Despite this, the matte black bulletproof Escalade parked inside was intact. The stray rocket that had struck just beyond the door had left a small smouldering crater in the asphalt. Carver regarded the scene outside, with spot fires burning and plumes of black smoke wafting up high. The Autobots had moved out of the compound and judging from the volume of the sounds of gunfire and explosions, they were not too far off.

Carver pulled open the passenger side door and climbed inside. Set into the dashboard was a computer, one that he switched on immediately while Van Cleef clambered into the driver's seat. The doors shut and the Captain started the engine. The large four-wheel drive shot forth with an abrupt lurch as Van Cleef hit the accelerator a bit harder than Carver would have preferred. Speeding across the wrecked compound, Carver kept his gaze on the computer as a map of the city appeared on the display. The Autobots were marked and he noticed with some interest that one of them was far further ahead than the others, likely barrelling down the freeway and into the city. He knew that this Autobot was the one they wanted. With satellite tracking, it would be fairly easy to keep tabs on all of the Autobots, and their human friends for that matter.

"Where are we headed?" Van Cleef asked. He sent the car through one of the side gates before turning the steering wheel sharply, causing the whole vehicle to power slide in such a way that it faced the direction of the road. With this done, Van Cleef was able to hit the accelerator a lot harder in order to send them speeding along. Several police cars were scattered around, some of which had been flipped over, others set alight and a few of them simply bearing large, jagged holes from the stray rounds they had caught. Two of the Autobots had gone onto the road outside the front of the compound, firing their weapons at the Decepticon vessel hovering overhead.

"One of the Autobots has Darby with them, by the look of it," Carver said. "For protection, no doubt. And they've got the Seal." That thing was letting off significant energy readings. Carver had had it locked up underground for a very good reason, after all.

A Decepticon, bulky and mostly grey in colour, dropped from the rear of the Decepticon ship at that point, rappelling along a thick cable. It landed on the road ahead, causing Van Cleef to swing the steering wheel one way rapidly. The Decepticon paid them no attention and instead started shooting a large energy cannon at the two Autobots outside of the compound. The car went swerving around its legs before Van Cleef brought the wheel back, setting the vehicle straight.

"Head into the city," Carver said.

Van Cleef turned right up ahead, taking them onto a road leading directly into the heart of Las Vegas. The industrial sites thinned out here, turning into suburbs as they went. As they did, Carver took the opportunity to survey the building panic that was evident on the streets. People rushed by, as did cars, with civilians hauling bags and others locking themselves inside. Police cars shot past Carver and Van Cleef, heading in the opposite direction.

"Fat lot of good they'll do," Van Cleef commented.

The chaos on the streets was to be expected. Humans were chaotic and unpredictable by nature, especially when faced with a threat as great as the one that now bore down on the outskirts of the city. Fight or flight indeed, and judging from the look of things, many were opting for the latter. Naturally, they were not being particularly orderly about it. People were running about the streets, some were packing their cars with belongings in obvious preparation for evacuation. _This is the sort of wake-up call the people need,_ Carver thought. _To show them that there are greater enemies out there than any 'terrorist'._ There needed to be order, proper order that no democratic government bogged down in bureaucracy could give. There had to be a government that was free of the corruption so prevalent in democracy, one where politicians could not be bought and paid for, one where those in charge cared for the people of the nation more than they did for filling their bank accounts. There had to be a strong leader, someone who could bring humanity forwards, who would ensure that the species as a whole could properly defend itself from alien threats.

Carver had been planning things for years. He had not come this far for someone like Darby to ruin it all. And to think, he had had high hopes for the young man. His loyalties to the Autobots had apparently been too tough to break.

The Colonel's train of thought was interrupted by the sound of his cell-phone ringing. He reached into a pocket in his trousers and pulled it out. He did not need to look at the number listed on the display to know who it was. Accepting the call, he placed the phone to his ear. The familiar and agitated voice of the Vice President blared through the speaker, loud enough for Carver to move the phone away from it by about an inch.

"Mr. Vice President, you do not need to raise your voice, I'm right here," Carver said.

_"Why is there an alien ship floating over Las Vegas?"_ Naturally, the Vice President was upset. This had not been in the plan. Certainly not his, whereas Carver could only have put in place precautionary measures to combat such an eventuality.

"The Cybertronians have made a move against the Taskforce," Carver explained. He had not told the Vice President everything, only what he needed to know. "You should have expected such an eventuality. I told you something like this may happen."

_"People are demanding answers, Colonel. And I haven't got the ones they want."_

"Things will be under control soon enough, Mr. Vice President," Carver said. He stated this dryly and did not even bother to sound reassuring. The Vice President was no more a tool than the Decepticons had been. Carver found the man to be irritable at best, typical of the emasculated politicians of this day and age. No backbone whatsoever, crumbling at the first sign of aggressive resistance. No wonder the government could hardly get anything done properly.

_"It doesn't look like they're anywhere near 'under control',"_ the Vice President countered.

Up ahead, Van Cleef turned onto a main road. Here, the traffic had reached a standstill in both lanes. However, Van Cleef turned the vehicle onto the sidewalk and the Captain began honking the horn repeatedly as he sent the Escalade racing across the uneven pavement. Pedestrians jumped aside, although one man was clipped by the front of the car and fell over. Van Cleef barely gave him a second glance and kept driving.

"I have reinforcements on their way," Carver said. "Taskforce troopers, armed with the tools required to bring down the alien attackers. In the meantime, Mr. Vice President, I suggest you get the Air Force out here. They may be able to do something about the ship."

_"I've already given that order. But people are getting hurt over there, Colonel. Civilians caught in the crossfire."_

"Blame the aliens, not me." Carver narrowed his eyes. He was already tiring of this conversation.

_"You told me..."_

"Sometimes things happen beyond our control," Carver interrupted. "You should have thought about that before you told me you wanted to become President." He took the phone away from his ear and hung up. He looked over to Van Cleef, who had since set the car back onto the road now that the traffic had cleared. They were still in the suburbs, with a petrol station at the corner ahead. The line to use the pumps had become several cars long.

"What are you going to do about him, Colonel?" Van Cleef asked.

Carver did not hesitate in his reply.

"What do you think, Captain?"


	36. Fire in the Streets

**Fire in the Streets**

Decepticon General Cyclonus stood upon the rear ramp of his personal yacht, watching as his soldiers rappelled down to the street below. Spread out ahead of him was the Taskforce compound, mostly a wreck from the Autobot assault that had occurred earlier. Human vehicles were spread across the street, several in various states of disrepair after his ship's preliminary volley of fire. A show of force, little more, but it had been enough to cause most of the humans in the area to run into hiding. It was good to be in battle once again, after such a long time spent upon his cruiser. Playing "negotiation" with the humans had been an irritating affair, nothing more than a farce that would only benefit Colonel Carver. Now that the human had lost control of the situation, it was only fitting that Cyclonus and his Decepticons move in to clean up the mess in their own way.

There were two Autobots on the ground below. Ultra Magnus and a female one he had never seen before, some kind of new arrival on the scene he assumed. They were greatly outnumbered, yet despite this were putting up a worthy struggle. _Two against many_, he mused. Cyclonus watched as his own soldiers rappelled down thick cables that had been sent dangling from the ramp. They were all ground-pounders, there were few fliers in his forces.

Ultra Magnus took a shot at him from the street below, sending it into the bottom of the ramp. The impact was enough to cause one of the other Decepticons to lose his balance, sending him falling off of the edge before he made a certainly painful landing on the ground below. Cyclonus just laughed in response to the attack, finding it more exciting than anything else. This was what he had been made for, to go into battle and engage his foes directly instead of attempting some underhanded tactics such as the one he had employed to eliminate the human 'President'. Cyclonus looked down at Ultra Magnus, noticing the disgruntled look on the large Autobot's face.

"I'll give you a death worthy of a warrior, Magnus!" Cyclonus shouted, hoping to get his voice heard above the sounds of the battle. As the last half a dozen of his squad rappelled down to the street, Cyclonus readied the fusion cannon he carried in his right arm. He took aim at the pair of Autobots, both of whom had started rushing across the road, heading for the cover within the industrial estate nearby_. "Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war!"_

Cyclonus sent a fusion cannon blast into the road near the two Autobots, causing the female one to stumble. Even so, she recovered quickly and the pair smashed their way through the wire fence around the perimeter of the industrial zone. The ship followed them, allowing Cyclonus to sight on them again. Some of the human police officers on the ground had started shooting up at him, although they were quickly distracted by the Decepticon soldiers on the ground, many of whom opened fire into the cluster of law enforcement vehicles. Entire cars exploded, others were riddled with blaster fire and several of the human officers disappeared amongst the flames and smoke. Dirt and chunks of tarmac rained down upon the street. Cyclonus watched Ultra Magnus shoot down one of the Decepticon soldiers, planting a heavy rifle shot directly into his chest. Losses were inevitable in a fight like this, even if the two Autobots below were greatly outnumbered. Ultra Magnus would not go down easily and had likely fought under worse odds in the past. He was, Cyclonus thought, in some ways similar to himself. Both had played second-in-command on their respective sides in the war. They were both seasoned veterans and fought valiantly for their causes. Killing Ultra Magnus would be a shame, a waste of a perfectly good soldier. However, sometimes one had to do things they did not entirely approve of, all for the greater good. By the time this day was over, Cyclonus would have the Seal and he would be the one to herald a new era for Cybertron. He would place the entire planet under his dominion and do what Megatron had failed to do himself.

"Preoccupied, Magnus?" Cyclonus shouted. He followed this with a hearty chuckle before sending another fusion cannon blast into the ground below. This one struck one of the large metal tanks within the industrial area, igniting the fuel contained within. The whole thing erupted into a massive ball of flame and molten metal, causing his ship to shake as the shockwave connected with its underbelly. He watched as Ultra Magnus stumbled from the force of the explosion while one of his own Decepticons was knocked backwards, hitting the fence at the edge of the industrial estate where it collapsed under the soldier's weight. As for the female, she had run on ahead, stopping now to turn around and watch the destruction unfold. Cyclonus' soldiers pressed on into the industrial area, striding through the thick smoke that had built up from the explosion, their energy weapons firing and sending red and purple blasts forth.

"General," a voice called into his comms. It was the pilot of his personal yacht. "We have detected two other Autobot signatures, heading into the area. Another one has gone deeper into the city."

Cyclonus briefly pondered this development. Help was coming for the beleaguered Autobots, while one fled further into the urban centre. He will get them all, in time.

"Keep us on Magnus," Cyclonus barked. "I want to be the one to kill him. I will tear out his spark with my bare hands, and I will do the same to every other Autobot who crosses my path!"

There was a pause. The pilot likely thought him mad, but knew better than to state as much.

"Understood, General."

"Magnus!" Cyclonus shouted at the Autobot Commander then, watching as he raced for one of the warehouse structures within the industrial estate. "Your friends cannot save you now. Face me, warrior to warrior. Spare us the chase. Spare yourself the humiliation! _Face your death with dignity!_" He raised his fusion cannon and fired, sending a blast into the front of the warehouse building as Ultra Magnus smashed his way through the entrance. One corner of the structure erupted into fire and smoke, the explosion enough to cause a large section of the roof to collapse. Ultra Magnus was no doubt still alive, his spark still pulsed on Cyclonus' sensors. And, as if on cue, he appeared amongst the smoke and debris, standing upright with the rifle raised to his shoulder. He fired at the approaching Decepticons, gunning another one down before the return fire forced him to back off.

"As expected, a warrior like him would not have come far without being stubbornly hard to kill," Cyclonus said to no one in particular. Ultra Magnus took a few shots up at him, causing him to take a step away from the edge of the ramp as the heavy rifle shots pounded into the hull nearby.

* * *

Bumblebee and Doubletake had turned around from their trip to the rendezvous point outside of the city as soon as Cyclonus' ship had appeared on their sensors. Both of them, in their vehicle modes, raced back towards Las Vegas while Cyclonus' personal ship rained plasma fire onto the outskirts from up high, Decepticon soldiers rappelling down onto the streets as its guns pounded the compound and surrounding industrial zones. Even from a distance, it was clear that the other Autobots were greatly outnumbered. Bumblebee had no qualms about charging right in, it was the least he could do after what they had done to him, and to Knock Out especially. Doubletake trailed along behind, apparently as keen to charge in as Bumblebee was.

Ultra Magnus and Wildstrike had rushed into an industrial estate where there was more cover. Both Bumblebee and Doubletake came barrelling down the street, transforming as they moved, their momentum carrying them along, their metal feet grinding into the road. Bumblebee had a blaster pistol clenched in his left hand and brought it up firing, blowing away a Decepticon on the road ahead. The Decepticon soldier fell backwards and landed on a parked police car, crushing it under his weight. Bumblebee vaulted over an overturned car, bringing him within metres of another Decepticon. This one, bulky and silver in colour, swivelled around and raised an energy cannon. Bumblebee lunged into him, knocking him to the ground before he planted the pistol to the Decepticon's head. A single shot blew it apart, splattering the yellow one-armed Autobot with bright blue energon fluid.

Doubletake rushed past him, heading down the street to where a pair of Decepticons had been shooting into the industrial estate. Both did not see him coming, preoccupied with Ultra Magnus and Wildstrike. Doubletake had his submachine gun clenched in one arm and pulled the trigger, spraying the pair of Decepticons with a withering hail of fire. One of them fell, riddled with holes that leaked energon. The other took a few rounds in the side and the chest before he turned around, bringing his arm cannon to bear. Doubletake dived to one side as a volley of red energy bolts came his way, zipping over him as he landed behind a parked car.

Bumblebee snatched up the dropped energy cannon. It was a bulky weapon that fired a large wave of energy that dissipated over a moderate distance. Designed for close quarters fighting and from what he could tell, the distances involved here were small enough. In one fluid movement he was up on his feet, his pistol clipped to his waist and the energy cannon clutched in his lone hand. A pull of the trigger sent a large pulse of red energy towards the wounded Decepticon. It struck him in the chest, the force behind it enough to lift him off of his feet and send him flying backwards. He hit the front of a suburban home, a small and fairly modest one, likely a cheap one too given the mostly industrial neighbourhood it was bordered on. The Decepticon flattened the front of the beige coloured home, landing in a heap as the roof caved in under his weight, his back landing in the living room, shattering a television set and flattening a couch. The large hole burned into its chest smouldered and smoked, the spark chamber a mess of molten metal that cooled quickly in the air.

"Wheeljack's gone on ahead," Doubletake shouted as he rose to his feet. "He'll need backup."

"You go," Bumblebee said. He looked up at Cyclonus' ship, watching as the figure of the General himself fired a fusion cannon in the general direction of Ultra Magnus and Wildstrike. "I'll help the Commander."

Doubletake nodded in acknowledgement. He transformed into his vehicle mode of a silver sports car and sped off down the street, heading towards the city centre. He floored it past the Decepticons further ahead, getting some shots sent his way. Most were preoccupied with moving into the industrial estate in order to encroach upon Ultra Magnus and Wildstrike. Bumblebee saw that he was in the perfect position to flank them. That would even the odds somewhat, even with how outnumbered he was.

Bumblebee started along the flank, heading into the suburban neighbourhood that ran along the edge of the industrial area. Most of the civilians here had left in a hurry, leaving plenty of litter in their wake such as clothing and papers. Bumblebee kept low, ducking behind the houses as best he could, before he found a bulky Decepticon firing into the industrial area from behind one of the small houses. Bumblebee promptly shot him in the back with the blast cannon, knocking him forwards and sending him onto the road where he ended up spread-eagled with a smoking hole blown into his back. Ahead, there were several more Decepticons scattered throughout the industrial zone, although both Ultra Magnus and Wildstrike were not in sight.

One of the Decepticons spotted him then as he ducked behind the house. A null ray shot zipped over the building's roof, sailing off into the distance. Bumblebee kept down, only for another shot to strike the front of the house and go straight through. Part of the wall in front of him exploded outwards, sending the powerful blasting shooting by him by a narrow margin before it struck the neighbouring home. There, it blew clean through the brick wall and travelled onwards through another three homes before it finally ran out of steam. Bumblebee dived forwards as the third shot exploded out of the house in front of him, passing through the space he had just been occupying. He hit the grass several metres ahead, his upper body becoming exposed down the side of the home. Here, he raised the weapon in his one arm and returned fire, the blast pulse blowing away the wooden fence ahead before it travelled across the street and struck a parked car near the Decepticon soldier. The whole car was lifted off of its wheels and sent rolling through the air before it collided with the fence of the industrial estate. The Decepticon jumped to one side and sent another null ray shot in Bumblebee's direction. This one missed him narrowly, hitting the ground near his head and showering him with dirt.

Bumblebee scrambled to his feet and fired again, the blast pulse striking the Decepticon in the right shoulder, shearing his arm clean off of the rest of his body. His null ray went flying off with it, landing far out of reach. Bumblebee started walking forwards, the energy blast cannon raised while the Decepticon soldier screamed in agony. The yellow Autobot pulled the trigger again, blowing the Decepticon's head apart, sending the rest of his body crumpling into a heap on the road.

"My favourite Autobot," a voice called from behind him. Bumblebee swivelled around, his spark lurching in his chest. He found the voice to be chillingly familiar. Shadowstriker had appeared, standing before the row of suburban homes. Bumblebee could not quite figure out how he had come here without him noticing, but he figured that a stealth and infiltration expert like Shadowstriker would have to know how to do such things. "How's the arm?" Shadowstriker beared his jagged metal teeth in a malevolent smile.

The stump of his right arm had started to ache somewhat, now that Shadowstriker had appeared. A phantom pain, irritating at least, agonizing at worst. Bumblebee felt a surge of anger in him as he watched the Decepticon. This one had been the cause of so much pain to him that Bumblebee's usually level-headed demeanour began to give way to something far more aggressive.

Shadowstriker pulled his sword from where it was sheathed at his back. The blade glinted in the sunlight. In the industrial estate nearby, Ultra Magnus and Wildstrike continued to battle the Decepticons. No one would be coming to help Bumblebee.

Bumblebee raised the energy blast cannon in Shadowstriker's direction. Shadowstriker ducked and swung his blade, but Bumblebee jumped backwards, narrowly missing the swing. This time he would not be caught off-guard so easily. Even so, his energy blast cannon caught the blade. The sword cut it cleanly in half, causing the front end and barrel to fall away, leaving Bumblebee holding the useless grip. He dropped it and rolled to the side as Shadowstriker lunged forwards with a follow-up swing, the blade passing through the air that Bumblebee had been occupying a second previously.

The Autobot jumped onto his feet, unarmed but ready to face his opponent, even if he only had one arm. He knew that Shadowstriker would be able to easily exploit this weakness, but Bumblebee was not in the mindset to retreat. There was nowhere to run and his friends needed his help.

Bumblebee shifted into a ready pose, his close-quarters combat training and experience kicking in as Shaodwstriker turned to face him. The Decepticon charged forwards, swinging his blade from the right around to the left. Bumblebee ducked and tackled him before he could recover, sending him onto the road, his one arm going for Shadowstriker's sword-wielding hand. The pair struggled for the blade, but Shadowstriker had the clear advantage as he still had both of his arms. One of his hands went for Bumblebee's neck, gripping it tightly, placing pressure upon the vital energon lines that ran through it. Bumblebee's one hand went to this one, prying it away from his neck before he jumped backwards, hoping to gain a moment's worth of recovery time. Shadowstriker was quick to jump back onto his feet, spinning his sword about in one hand as he narrowed his cruel red optics, his mouth forming into an excited, if somewhat menacing, grin. He looked like he was about to say something, but Bumblebee did not give him that opportunity. Instead, he jumped forwards and sent a powerful kick towards Shadowstriker, catching him in the side, the blow enough to make him stumble and put his guard down if only for a second. Bumblebee followed this with another kick from the opposite direction, catching Shadowstriker in the arm. This caused the sword to fly from his grip, sending it clattering along the road where it landed well out of reach.

Shadowstriker responded by shifting his hands out in front of him, holding them at the ready, his optics set firmly on the yellow Autobot in front of him. Even without his sword, Shadowstriker still had one arm more than Bumblebee and thus carried an advantage. Bumblebeee circled him and Shaodwstriker followed suit, the pair keeping one another in front of themselves at all times. The battle raging in the industrial area across the street was practically blocked out of their senses, all their focus upon the opponent before them. Bumblebee had not been in a fight like this for a long time. There was no doubt in his mind that this would be to the death. Shadowstriker certainly would not spare him any quarter.

Bumblebee awaited the Decepticon to make the first move. Shadowstriker had been expecting a pushover, so Bumblebee's surprising resistance had caught him somewhat off-guard. He lashed out then, a left hook followed by a right one, the first of which Bumbleebee dodged. The second strike he deflected with his one arm, knocking the attacking arm aside before sending a kick into Shadowstriker's stomach. The Decepticon took a step backwards from the force of the blow but followed up with one of his own, sending a powerful, sweeping kick into Bumblebee's side that the Autobot failed to avoid. Bumblebee was sent stumbling against a parked car, his weight enough to dent the roof and sides as well as smash out the side windows. Shadowstriker took advantage of this opportunity and pressed towards him, bringing down one fist in an effort to smash Bumblebee's head in. Fortunately, the Autobot rolled away from the incoming blow and Shadowstriker instead sent his fist through the roof of the car.

Snarling, Shadowstriker pulled it free and brought a fist down again. Bumblebee rolled clean off of the car and onto the pavement. Shadowstriker's fist went through the windshield, shattering it completely. He turned to face Bumblebee and rushed him, causing the Autobot to use his one good arm to grab at the Decepticon as he neared. He used Shadowstriker's own momentum against him, sending him tumbling forwards into the wooden fence that ran outside one of the small suburban homes nearby. Shadowstriker crashed through it, wooden fragments flying everywhere as his own momentum carried him into the house. He smashed into the side of it, causing the brick-and-mortar wall to crumble beneath him. Falling forwards as part of the roof caved in, Shadowstriker ended up with his head in the kitchen and the rest of him sprawled along the grass just outside. Bumbleebee went after him, but Shadowstriker was far from out and had so far gained only a few scuffs and scrapes. He was back on his feet quickly, in time to meet Bumblebee who rushed him and punched him squarely across the jaw.

A spray of energon fluid erupted as his head snapped back from the blow. Bumblebee followed this with a kick to the chest that sent Shadowstriker falling backwards, smashing through the next wall of the home and causing the rest of the roof to cave in around them. However, he did not fall over completely and righted himself with surprising finesse. He responded to Bumblebee's landed strikes with a snarl before he lunged for the Autobot, sending them both falling back from the house and onto the street, leaving cracks in the pavement where they landed. Bumblebee struggled to push the Decepticon off of him, only succeeding after some struggle. This allowed him to rush backwards and compose himself, despite the aches he felt in places where Shadowstriker had landed hits. As for the Decepticon infiltration expert, he was on his feet also and had stepped over to a streetlight pole. With one hand, he ripped the pole out of the concrete, swinging it around like a quarterstaff. Bumblebee suddenly found himself having to avoid a whole flurry of swings from the long metal post, ducking underneath one and sidestepping another as Shadowstriker put him on the ropes. Finally the streetlight came swinging against Bumblebee's head, catching him in the side, bending out of shape from the impact while pain shot through his helm. His head jerked in the opposite direction and he felt a warm runny sensation in his mouth as energon lines broke inside his head. The world around him spun for a moment and he found himself stumbling to one side, only for Shadowstriker to follow-up the strike with another swing that caught him in the opposite side, this time in the torso. Pain shot through him and the pole bent out of shape once more.

"Pathetic," Shadowstriker spat. He struck Bumblebee once more, the attack powerful enough to send him off of his feet and carry him a few metres backwards where he landed painfully against a parked car, his head pounding.

Shadowstriker tossed the bent pole aside and strolled over to where his sword was lying. Bumblebee struggled to get back onto his feet, the world around him swaying in an odd manner and energon fluid dripping from his mouth like a human infant would often drool. Shadowstriker turned around and walked towards him, his sword clutched in one hand.

Bumblebee searched around himself for anything he could use as a weapon. A dead Decepticon lay nearby, the blaster pistol he had been carrying situated out of his reach but not to the extent as to be impossible to get. Slowly, Bumblebee moved off of the crushed car and began to hobble for the weapon. Shadowstriker saw this and started running towards him, all the more encouragement for Bumblebee to pick up the pace as best he could, despite the way his head pounded painfully, as if the whole thing was about to explode. He dived for the weapon, his one hand finding a grip on the handle, before he turned around as Shadowstriker came upon him. He fired a shot, clipping Shadowstriker in the left arm with a red bolt of energy. The Decepticon grunted, his pace interrupted, granting Bumblebee the opportunity to fire again. The next shot hit him in the right shoulder, causing the grip on his sword to slacken and the blade in question to clatter onto the pavement.

Shadowstriker lashed out with a kick, an angered look upon his metallic features. The kick hit Bumblebee in the arm, sending enough pain down its length and the pistol flying from his grip. Both opponents met each other in a hobbled over, pain-stricken state. Shadowstriker went to throw a punch, his arms now too weak for such attacks to carry the sort of weight they had had earlier. Bumblebee simply ducked underneath this latest strike and tackled him to the ground, only for Shadowstriker to throw him aside but inadvertently placed him within reach of his own blade.

Bumblebee found himself lying on his back, looking up at the blue sky, his chassis warm from the sunlight. His one hand scrambled along the blacktop before it wrapped itself around the hilt of Shadowstriker's blade.

Shadowstriker came upon Bumblebee but the Autobot brought the sword up, slicing through the arm that the Decepticon raised in an attempt to ward off the attack. Severing his left arm just above the elbow, Shadowstriker took a step backwards and shouted in agony. Blue energon fluid spurted from the stump. Bumblebee, his legs aching, slowly rose to his feet, the sword remaining clenched in his hand while Shadowstriker began to step backwards.

Bumblebee had no room in him for mercy, not to Shadowstriker. This Decepticon had done more than enough damage. Even as he approached Shadowstriker, the infiltration expert pulled another trick from his sleeve, somewhat literally as he bent over and pulled a small blade from a compartment hidden in his right thigh. This all happened in one quick, fluid movement that caught the Autobot off-guard. Shadowstriker gripped this small, serrated knife in his remaining hand, holding it in a threatening position. Bumblebee was close, close enough to bring the sword up and over his head. Shadowstriker rushed forwards and closed what little remaining distance had been between them. He plunged the knife into Bumblebee's chest, just as the Autobot brought the sword down in a powerful overhead motion.

Shadowstriker's head was cut right down the middle by the sword, both halves hanging to either side while energon spurted forth. Bumblebee took a few steps backwards, pain running through his chest from the blade that had found its home slightly to the left of his spark chamber. Shadowstriker fell to his knees and Bumblebee, using what remaining strength he had, plunged the infiltrator's sword straight through the centre of his chest. The light within his spark chamber flared and then vanished, the glow in his optics fading. Bumblebee left the sword impaled in the Decepticon as his lifeless corpse fell to its knees and then, finally, the Autobot crumpled into a heap on one side.

Bumblebee felt very little after the act. What he did feel was pain, and much of it, as the blade in his chest sent waves of it through him. His strength had waned and continued to do so. Nonetheless, he put his hand to the hilt of the knife and pulled, emitting an agonized shout as he crudely yanked the blade free. Tossing it aside, he collapsed against the parked car behind him, energon fluid flowing from the gash left by the blade. Behind him, in the industrial area, Ultra Magnus and Wildstrike continued to fight. As much as he would have liked to go in and help, he found that he did not have the strength to do so. He lost consciousness a moment later.

* * *

Ultra Magnus and Wildstrike had been surrounded. Several Decepticons fired on their position within the industrial area, the pair of Autobots finding themselves trapped amongst a set of squat warehouse-type structures that provided only light cover at best. Above, Cyclonus fired from his personal yacht and the ship's plasma guns pounded into the surrounding area on occasion. Every time Ultra Magnus and Wildstrike stayed still for too long, a shot from one of the ship's plasma cannons would force them to move, usually into the open. And then the Decepticon soldiers would rain fire in their direction. Ultra Magnus had already taken a few shots, each new hole punctured through his armour burning ferociously. Thankfully none of those shots had struck anything really important. As for Wildstrike, she was not too far from him, her submachine gun bordering on overheating from all the rounds it had been spewing.

Ultra Magnus looked up, watching as Cyclonus levelled his fusion cannon once again.

"Incoming!" He shouted to Wildstrike. She ducked behind a partially broken wall and Ultra Magnus jumped aside as the fusion cannon blast struck the ground nearby, showering the pair with dirt.

Blaster fire from behind caused Wildstrike to swivel in response, her submachine gun letting fly with a hail of supersonic rounds. The Decepticon soldier who had tried to get around them was torn to shreds, collapsing by a train car situated on the rail line that travelled out of the industrial area. Ultra Magnus started to move back, motioning to Wildstrike to do the same. Keeping under the shelter that was over the train-yard, this ensured that Cyclonus did not have such an easy time of targeting them.

Nonetheless, it did incite him to order the plasma guns to fire again. A swirling blast of energy struck part of the shelter, going straight through the corrugated metal before it struck a locomotive. The whole thing exploded into a fireball of blue energy. Ultra Magnus stumbled slightly as the concussive wave hit him. Regardless, he pressed forwards, with Wildstrike trailing a short distance behind. Cyclonus' ship followed, hovering low overhead, its large engines humming loudly and trailing blue energy in their wake.

_"My thoughts are bloody, Magnus! You prolong the inevitable!"_ Cyclonus shouted. It was not the first time he had shouted down at the two Autobots. It likely would not be the last.

Ultra Magnus stopped by the perimeter fence. Ahead, the railway line travelled onwards into the desert. Las Vegas lay much farther to his left, past an entire suburban area comprised of rows of quaint houses. Wildstrike stopped near him, briefly checking over the submachine gun in her right hand.

"I'd give up a lot of energon if it meant shutting that guy up," she commented, gesturing with one hand in Cyclonus' general direction.

Ultra Magnus looked past her and towards the buildings they had gone by seconds earlier. A Decepticon stepped into view, a large rifle raised at the ready. Ultra Magnus stepped forwards and pushed Wildstrike aside as he fired a shot from his heavy rifle, the blast catching the Decepticon in the chest. The entire front of his torso exploded in flame and the Decepticon fell backwards, landing in a heap on the dirt.

Wildstrike turned to him. Maybe her pride had been hurt, Ultra Magnus could not be certain. She certainly did not show it.

"Always good to know you've got my back, sir," she said. Was that the hint of a smile at her mouth? Ultra Magnus had no time to make certain, as a volley of energy weapons fire came at them from the other side of the compound. The Autobot Commander ducked behind the locomotive to his side, the red bolts of energy searing the metal. He shifted his gaze to where the fire had come from and he watched as a pair of Decepticon soldiers rushed into the area, spreading out, with one firing an arm cannon while the other began to run around the left flank. Ultra Magnus ducked around the parked train, raising his heavy rifle as he did so. The Decepticon rounded the corner further up ahead and the pair started firing, with the Decepticon going down from a shot to his chest. This was not before he had fired a few shots from his own submachine gun, the supersonic rounds catching Ultra Magnus in the torso, stinging painfully as they punched into his armour. He grunted, clenching his jaw as he started ahead. Wildstrike followed several paces behind.

_"Our revels now have ended!" _Cyclonus sounded like he was enjoying himself immensely.

From above, one of the plasma cannons on the Decepticon General's ship fired. The shot slammed into the end of the train ahead, the explosion of blue flame and the concussive wave of air it emanated enough to knock Ultra Magnus backwards. Molten metal rained down all around and the metal shelter overhead collapsed, sheets of metal landing across him. He brushed them off with ease, finding that Wildstrike was there with one arm out that he took, allowing her to help him up. Back on his feet, he rushed forwards, smashing through the perimeter fence and onto a road. Above, Cyclonus' ship followed, the Decepticon General himself levelling his fusion cannon for another shot. This one zoomed down and connected with a parked car a few metres ahead of Ultra Magnus, causing the entire vehicle to explode violently. One of the doors came flying out and clipped him in the shoulder before it went clanking along the pavement to his side. A panicked human in a passing vehicle hit the gas and went racing straight by the Autobot Commander, self-preservation the only thing on his mind.  
Wildstrike had her back to him, her attention focused on the Decepticon soldier rushing after them. She cut him down with a hail of submachine gun fire, only for the weapon to cease firing a part way through, leaving the Decepticon riddled with holes but not quite enough of them for him to stop moving.

"I'm out of ammunition," she called. Ultra Magnus turned around and sent a heavy rifle shot towards the wounded Decepticon where he lay, the blast powerful enough to blow one arm clean off.

Wildstrike threw the submachine gun aside and pulled a smaller side-arm from where it had been clipped to one thigh. It was a standard Autobot model, small and compact with fairly average stopping power. She held it up in one hand, surveying the area behind them. Above, Cyclonus' ship hovered ominously. One of its plasma cannons shifted slightly, its barrel moving to point in their direction.

"Let's go!" Ultra Magnus shouted. He rushed across the road, with Wildstrike behind him. Smashing through a short wall separating the road from the suburban block behind it, Ultra Magnus continued to press onwards towards the city. At least in there the pair would have somewhat better protection, instead of being caught out in the open like this. Still, he was not keen on causing any collateral damage. By attacking the Taskforce compound, the Autobots had inadvertently trapped themselves in what was beginning to appear as what many would call a 'no-win situation'. They could not flee into the desert, as Cyclonus' ship would be able to easily track them. Going into the city would simply bring the wrath of the Decepticons upon the human population. They had to do something about the ship above. Ultra Magnus took note of the thick rappelling cables hanging from the ship's rear ramp, the same ones that had been used by Cyclonus' soldiers to safely come down to the ground without hurting themselves. The armour on the ship would have been too thick for his heavy rifle to penetrate. If he could get inside, he would have a far easier time of bringing it down.

The plasma cannon on the ship's underbelly fired, halting his train of thought. The searing bolt of energy connected with the small suburban home nearby, obliterating it. Wooden splinters and chunks of brickwork scattered all around. Ultra Magnus returned fire with his rifle, sending a few shots into the ship's underside, leaving at most scorch marks and dents. Across the road, a pair of bulky silver Decepticon soldiers moved into view, both with in-built arm cannons. Red bolts of energy zipped across the street and Ultra Magnus found himself exposed, as was Wildstrike who was nearby. He ducked, ignoring the shot that clipped him in the side. Wildstrike had started to return fire, slowly backing away as she did. One of the Decepticons fell, holes blasted into its torso, while the other pressed forwards with a determined look on its face. Ultra Magnus took a few steps backwards as energy weapons fire clipped the house on his left, blowing chunks of brickwork into his optics. As his aft hit the ground he brought his rifle to bear and pulled the trigger, blowing a large hole into the Decepticon's front. The enemy soldier fell backwards, arms outstretched, before he landed upon the barrier that ran along the road's edge, crushing it under his weight.

Wildstrike turned around, a worried glance crossing her face as she saw Ultra Magnus' latest wounds.

"Sir, you've been hurt," she said, running towards him. Ultra Magnus was about to reply, to tell her that they were nothing to worry about. The words escaped him when a fusion cannon blast connected with her upper back, coming down from up high, from where Cyclonus stood upon the lowered rear ramp of his ship. Wildstrike's optics widened and fire erupted from where she had been hit, all while she fell forwards and landed only a short distance from the Autobot Commander.

_"I am as constant as the northern star!"_ Cyclonus called.

Ultra Magnus felt a pang of despair and gritted his metal teeth. He looked up, aiming his rifle as he did so, firing a trio of shots that connected with the ship's rear ramp. Cyclonus stepped back out of view. One of the shots hit a pylon supporting the ramp, causing it to list slightly, no doubt discouraging Cyclonus from putting his weight on it.

Wildstrike had a smouldering hole in her back, one that was slightly bigger than Ultra Magnus' fist. The blast had burned right through to the delicate organs underneath and blue fluid gushed from broken and seared energon lines. She was not moving and Ultra Magnus, his stoicism slipping ever so slightly, put aside his rifle and rolled her over. The lights in her blue optics had gone dim, her mouth slightly agape as if she was still surprised at what had just occurred. Ultra Magnus looked down at her wistfully, gently running a hand along one side of her face.

"Sir..." She croaked. Energon fluid trickled out of her mouth. Her face formed into a strained expression. "Is it...bad?"

Ultra Magnus shook his head. A feeble sounding chuckle escaped the female's mouth.

"Don't lie..."

"Don't talk," Ultra Magnus countered. He rested her head to the ground. "Save your strength." He did his best to keep his voice level, despite the emotions that ran rampant within him. It had been a long time since he had felt anything like he did now. In fact, he was not certain whether he had felt like this for anyone else before. He had lost friends in the past, but this was different. Wildstrike had very much found her way into his spark.

"You promised..." Wildstrike said. Ultra Magnus knew exactly what she was referring to. Up above, the hum from the engines on Cyclonus' ship amplified into a roar. It was changing course.

"I did," Ultra Magnus said. She held out a hand to him and he took it, her slender fingers contrasting to his far bulkier ones. "I meant it. There is no one I'd rather be bonded to." He became aware that her grip had eased considerably. Looking down at her, he saw that the light in her optics had completely gone. He let her hand go then, easing it to the ground. Slowly, he stood up, his face expressionless; in contrast, his mind was ablaze. Emotions reeled through him and finally his face contorted into an angered scowl.

He looked up. Cyclonus' ship was beginning to move away, heading for the city. They would likely go after the Seal, something that Ultra Magnus could not allow. He stood up and picked up his rifle. His gaze went to the ship as it slowly moved away, and then to the rappelling cables that dangled from it, wobbling above the suburban homes. They were not too close to the ground, but they were close enough. He started running for the nearest one, aware that a trio of Decepticons had appeared across the street. All three started shooting his way, energy weapons fire zipping by him and blasting chunks out of the surrounding homes as the Autobot Commander sprinted through the neighbourhood. A couple of the shots caught him in the side, sending searing pain shooting through him, but he kept going, his feet carrying him quickly down the block before he jumped onto the roof of one house at the corner. From here, he quickly jumped again, his weight crushing roof tiles and sending pieces of them sliding out of their housings. With one arm outstretched, he wrapped his hand around the cable, twisting it around his arm for better grip as the ship ascended and carried him over the suburbs.

Below, the trio of Decepticons shifted their fire. Bolts of red energy shot by him. His heavy rifle in his other hand, Ultra Magnus fired back at them, gunning one of the Decepticons down while the remaining two ducked into cover. Above, the ship's engines hummed loudly as it rose high enough to clear the tall buildings in the downtown area some distance ahead. Ultra Magnus found himself in a literally precarious position, but he knew what he was going to do next. He would give Cyclonus the warrior's death he very likely wanted.


	37. As I Really Am

**As I Really Am**

"Keep on them," Carver said. He and Van Cleef had been trailing after the Autobot vehicle carrying the Seal for some time now, following it deeper into the city while the battle with the Decepticons faded into the distance behind them. Travelling at the rear of their black bulletproof Escalade was an armoured van containing several armed Taskforce operatives. Reinforcements, a group of the very ones Carver had been waiting on since this whole attack had started. As for the Decepticon ship, it still hovered over the suburbs, firing down at the streets on occasion, likely blowing away a few houses in the process. One could very clearly see the vessel hovering in the distance, although now, as Carver travelled into the downtown area, the skyscrapers began to obscure that view. He figured that soon enough the Decepticons would shift their attention to the Seal, which was being carried in the Autobot known as Wheeljack. The Autobot's location was marked on the map displayed on the computer in the dashboard. Satellites above kept track of his movements, one of the many benefits that came with running a black ops organization.

Van Cleef was focused on the streets ahead. A lot of cars, some packed with belongings, were heading the same way, in this case _away_ from the fighting. As for those vehicles heading in the opposite direction, there were several police cars and SWAT vans going towards the fighting. Carver pulled the radio from the dashboard, tuning into Taskforce frequencies while he watched the vehicles rush past.

"This is Carver," he said. "We have ourselves a Code Red. I need all available Taskforce personnel to converge on my position. Utilise GPS tracking to acquire my location." He put the radio down and turned towards the windshield. Van Cleef had halted the vehicle, as the intersection ahead had become fairly congested. A few police officers stood in the centre of the road, attempting to direct traffic.

"Shit," Van Cleef said. He reversed the vehicle somewhat, the rear end scraping the front of the van behind them. The Captain did not even bother to hit the indicator before he sent the four-wheel drive onto the sidewalk, honking the horn as he went, causing the pedestrians milling about ahead to scramble out of the way. The Taskforce van followed them as they took the illegal shortcut, not that Carver was very concerned with what the police would do. As for the traffic officers, they only watched as the pair of cars went tearing down the sidewalk.

"Where do you think they're headed, Colonel?" Van Cleef asked. He nodded towards the computer monitor in the dashboard. Wheeljack had gone onto the Las Vegas Strip. Carver watched the display for a moment, the possibilities playing out in his mind.

"They know they'd be better off in the shelter of the city," Carver said. "Out in the desert they'd be exposed. They would willingly go into a population centre and bring the wrath of the Decepticons down on them in the process." He shook his head. "These Autobots are as destructive as the Decepticons. All the more reason to kill the lot of them." He pulled his Wildey pistol from the holster at his waist and removed the magazine from it, checking it over the ensure it was packed with the full seven rounds. They were of the specialized .475 Wildey hunting cartridge, the sort of ammunition one would use if they were worried about running into a wild elephant. Carver had more than a few pistols in his possession, though he had come to like the Wildey in particular, if only for its raw stopping power. He slammed the magazine home and worked the slide, before ensuring the safety was on. He slid it back into its holster, knowing full well he would be putting it to use shortly. Darby and Esquivel threatened to expose the Taskforce, to expose _him_. He had not planned for years just to have it undone so near to his victory. He needed the public on his side, following his narrative. Having his true intentions all over the media would turn many people against him. For all he knew, Darby and Esquivel could have already passed on the information to a media outlet. All the more reason to get moving even faster than he already was.

"Just get us to them, Captain," Carver said. "And don't get us killed."

* * *

Downtown Las Vegas was somewhat better off from the panic happening on the edge of the city. News of the battle raging in the suburbs spread quickly and the sounds of it were audible, even on the Las Vegas Strip. The streets were starting to fill up with those seeking a way out, while the police were doing their best to direct the increasingly volatile mass of panicked citizens. Jack noticed that a lot of people were heading into the many casinos and restaurants, either oblivious to the threat the Decepticons posed or simply apathetic. Sure, the fighting may have been happening some distance away, but Jack was surprised at how subdued the panic here was compared to what he had seen in the suburbs. At least here the authorities were somewhat more organized, presumably because they were not being blown away by armed Decepticons. Even the National Guard was on the move, trucks full of 'weekend warriors' heading in the opposite direction while Wheeljack, in vehicle mode, tore onto the Vegas Strip.

Darby was seated in the driver's seat, the steering wheel moving on its own accord. He had never been to Las Vegas and he might have appreciated the experience more were it happening under better circumstances. High above, a squadron of five fighter jets roared overhead, heading in the direction of Cyclonus' ship. He wondered how much difference they could make against the superior technology Cyclonus' personal yacht wielded. From prior experiences, the regular military had never fared very well against the Decepticons. It was only the Taskforce, with is prototype weaponry, that had managed to take the fight to them. It was a shame, then, that they were fighting the Decepticons for some of the wrong reasons. Not that Carver saw it that way. It was apparent to Jack that Colonel Carver saw himself as some kind of saviour of humanity. _I should have noticed this a lot sooner._

Rafael sat in the passenger's seat. He appeared to be relaxed, although this was likely a thin veneer to cover whatever actual anxiety he was feeling. He looked over to Jack then, his eyes narrowed inquisitively through his glasses.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

"We're getting away from the Decepticons," Jack replied. That was really the extent of it, as he had not thought any farther ahead. The plan to break into the Taskforce compound had only been made as far as the escape. After that, he had no idea what they would do. Part of him had been fully expecting to get killed prior to reaching the "escape" part of the plan. It was both a surprise and a relief that he was still breathing. He figured he should have a bit more confidence in himself, even if the odds were sorely stacked against him.

_"Desert's too open, kid,"_ Wheeljack said, his voice filtering through the speakers on the dashboard. _"We've got better protection in here."_

"Yeah, by putting civilians between us and the Decepticons," Rafael said, his voice laced with disdain.

_"You got any better ideas?"_ Wheeljack sounded annoyed. _"I could pull over and let you out right here, if you want."_

"That won't be necessary," Jack interjected. Wheeljack had never been the patient sort. He was likely under a fair bit of stress, Jack could certainly empathise. Up ahead, the Vegas Strip continued for some distance, casinos and night-clubs on both sides. People lined the sidewalks and traffic had become thick. A lot of the people here seemed almost oblivious to the alien attack occurring on the outskirts.

"We need to find General Williamson," Rafael said. "We can show him the information we found. Turn the military against Colonel Carver."

"And where's the General?"

"At a private section of the airport," Rafael replied. "According to the most recent files, anyway."

Wheeljack had been travelling at a fairly rapid pace, weaving in and out of traffic where he could, ensuring that they never stopped, even at red lights. Apparently the police were too busy with certain other emergencies to notice his reckless driving and had it been a human at the wheel, Jack might have worried for his own safety. The reflexes of an Autobot, however, were considerably better. He could trust Wheeljack to keep them out of an accident.

Apparently not out of the sights of the enemy, judging from the purple shot of energy that sailed through the air from somewhere further ahead and up high. It left a searing contrail behind it as it travelled, the bolt of energy striking the road in front of the Autobot, causing a flash of white flame that erupted forth and sent Wheeljack swerving as he worked to avoid it. The panic on the streets, amongst the many pedestrians, was immediate. A smouldering crater had been left in the road and Wheeljack swept around it, only for another shot to sear his left side and strike the ground next to him. The force of the explosion sent him airborne and Jack found himself lurching about in his seat, the seatbelt remaining in place as Wheeljack, in his vehicle mode, rolled through the air and landed on one side. The side windows shattered and Jack was shaken violently, his neck rubbing against the seatbelt hard enough and fast enough to burn considerably. The whole ordeal was over in seconds, leaving Wheeljack himself stunned while he lay on his side in the middle of the road. Gravity got the better of him and he fell back onto all four wheels, causing Jack and Rafael to once again bounce painfully in their seats, their stomachs feeling as if they had been left hanging in the air by a few feet.

The doors on both sides swung open and Jack was quick to tear out his seatbelt. He looked over to Rafael, who appeared to be all right if understandably shaken. Jack climbed out of the car, his legs wobbling underfoot. Rafael did the same. As for Wheeljack, he had suffered a number of scuffs and scrapes, the windows on his right side having all shattered. His windshield was also cracked.

There was screaming from the crowds on the street. People were rushing for cover now, packing themselves through the entrances of the surrounding buildings. Another shot struck the ground nearby, the concussive blast of air that blew forth from the explosion enough to knock Jack over. He was dimly aware of Wheeljack transforming, coming to stand in full biped mode with a fusion cannon clutched in his arms. The Seal of Nova Prime was clipped to his back, glinting in the light of the sun.

Jack rose onto his feet and started to run. He rushed by Rafael, grabbing him with one arm as the Decepticon sniper fired again. Wheeljack dived the opposite way, somersaulting as he landed, the shot zooming by him before it hit a parked car on the narrow grassed traffic islands in the middle of the Strip. The car burst into flame, its smoking hulk sent flying several metres backwards where it smashed into another vehicle and shattered its windshield.

"Get out of here!" Wheeljack shouted, glancing back to Jack. The young man did not need to be told twice. He turned and ran, his neck burning and right shoulder aching from the tumble he had taken with the vehicle. He dragged Rafael along after him, ensuring that the younger man followed him and did not become separated. Rafael carried the flash drive containing the information they had stolen from the Taskforce. Keeping him close by and safe was imperative.

Wheeljack raised the fusion cannon and fired a shot in the general direction of the Decepticon sniper. Jack turned his head, following the blast as it sped through the air. He glimpsed the Decepticon on a rooftop at the end of the street, about two hundred metres downrange. The Decepticon, tall and with a green and purple finish, ducked out of sight as the fusion cannon blast hit the front of the building at the top floor. Windows smashed and fire leapt forth, raining shards of glass onto the street below.

Jack continued running, going for the nearest building. Rafael followed and the pair found themselves weaving by the panicked civilians rushing along the sidewalk. People were pushing and shoving, shouting at each other or simply through fear. The glass double doors ahead were wide open and people were rushing inside the casino, an Asian themed one at that, with two large red-painted dragon statues at the entrance, one to either side of it. The security guard inside the lobby was hard-pressed to control the rushing throng of people, as some clambered over one another to get outside, looking to take their chances on escaping the battle. Others sought shelter within, presumably in whatever basement this casino had.

Jack had no idea where he was going to go now. A casino hardly seemed the place to escape from Decepticons, or the Taskforce for that matter. Yet here he was, rushing into a large open lobby with lush red carpet and Asian-themed decor all over the walls. Slot machines were arranged in rows to the far right and a bar was off to the left. Beyond this, blackjack and craps tables, several of each, arranged a short distance outside of a partitioned restaurant area.

The pair came to a stop outside of the bar. Rafael looked over to Jack, doing his best to catch his breath.

"I need a phone," he said.

"Why?"

"To contact the General," Rafael replied. "He could help us."

"He probably thinks we're traitors."

"It's a chance we'll have to take." Rafael had a point. They had nowhere else to go, with Decepticons outside and Taskforce operatives no doubt in the process of tracking them down.

Jack looked around. There may have been about forty people scattered around the large room. Several were at one of the many games tables, either ignorant of the battle happening outside or not particularly worried. The bartender at the bar behind them was still in business, filling a glass for one patron while an explosion thumped from somewhere outside. Jack had confidence that Wheeljack could look after himself, as much as he wanted to go out there and attempt to help. However, he knew exposing the Taskforce was far more important. That meant sticking with Rafael.

Jack walked up to the bar. The bartender, a tall East Asian man who looked to be middle-aged, watched him with a noticeably curious gaze.

"I need to use a phone," Jack said. The bartender considered the request for a moment before pointing, with one hand, towards the far end of the room. There were about half a dozen pay-phones in the wall that were not immediately obvious from the angle Jack was standing.

Jack motioned Rafael to follow him and the pair made their way over to one of the phones.

"Do you know his number?" Jack asked. Rafael nodded his head in the affirmative.

"I memorised it when I was going through the files," Rafael replied. He recited it quickly and Jack tapped in each number after dropping a few coins into the machine.

He waited expectantly for a response. The phone rang about five times before someone finally picked it up. A secretary of some sort, a man who sounded annoyed in the sense that he likely had more important duties to attend to. Answering a seemingly innocuous phone call was apparently not on his list of priorities.

"I need to speak to General Williamson," Jack said.

_"Yeah? A lot of people want to speak with the General. May I ask who you are?"_

"This is Agent Jack Darby of Unit-E, currently a wanted fugitive. I'm sure the General is well aware of who I am. Go and find him and tell him that I want to talk. Tell him it's urgent." Jack knew he was taking a serious gamble. Williamson had never struck him as the affable sort in any of the encounters he had had with the man in the past. He seemed high strung for a military General. Presumably the stress of the work was to blame for that.

_"Darby? Shit, all right. Hold on a moment."_

Jack looked over to Rafael. He did not wish to make any premature celebrations, but he gave his friend a thumbs-up nonetheless. There was an audible 'click' on the other end of the line then as the secretary transferred the call. Williamson's gruff voice broke in through the line, a frustrated tone to his voice.

_"You've got a lot of balls calling me after everything that's happened, Darby,"_ Williamson said.

* * *

Colonel Carver picked up the radio from the dashboard. One of their operatives was calling him in particular. Outside, they had come to a stop at a street corner about ten minutes away from the Vegas Strip. The sounds of a battle were very audible, as were the sounds of panic while people and vehicles scrambled to get out of the downtown area. Van Cleef sat with his hands resting on the wheel, waiting for Carver to give the go-ahead. They had stopped here upon hearing the sounds of the fighting. Going headlong into a battle between the Autobots and Decepticons would be foolhardy, even with backup. Letting the two sides duke it out seemed like the wiser decision.

"This is Carver," the Colonel said as he raised the radio near his mouth.

_"Colonel, sir, we're tracing a call being made to General Williamson,"_ the operative at the other end of the line replied. _"It's Jack Darby. He's attempting to make contact."_

Carver knew immediately what this meant.

"Patch it through to my vehicle," he said. "And as soon as you get a lock on Darby's location, send it to my computer." He had to wait a moment for the operative to make the appropriate adjustments. As soon as they were done, both Williamson's and Darby's voices came through quite clearly from the speakers on the dashboard.

_"Sensitive information?" _Williamson sounded curious. _"You better not be lying to me, Darby, or there'll be hell to pay."_

"I wouldn't have called you if this was a lie,"

Jack replied. He sounded frustrated. Being on the run and getting shot at by Taskforce operatives and Decepticons had likely taken its toll on the young man. Nonetheless, Carver found himself respecting him at least a little for having come as far as he had. Jack Darby was no soldier. A three week weapons course hardly made him one. Yet against all odds, he had pushed through. So much so he was in the position to undo much of Carver's work. When it came to getting Darby and Esquivel, Carver would not take any chances. Hence the team of a dozen men he had in the van following him. More were on the way.

_"Carver plans to kill you. He plans on doing a whole lot more. I can give you everything we pulled out of their database. You just have to come and get me and my friend."_ Jack was certainly playing a dangerous game. Carver would ensure it would be the death of him.

_"I've got problems of my own, Darby. There's a Decepticon attack happening in Las Vegas..."_

"And I'm right there. At the Four Dragons Casino. Come and get us, arrest us, whatever. Just do it fast."

There was a pause. Williamson, that old fool, was most certainly considering his options. Turning against the Taskforce was something he would be reluctant to do, but somehow Carver knew that in the old General's head there was still a modicum of self-respect. A sense of doing what was "right".

_"I'll send a car out. Be at the casino's rear entrance in fifteen minutes."_ With that, the General hung up. Carver put the radio back on its holder and turned to Van Cleef, who had been listening carefully to the conversation as well. On Carver's laptop, his visual representation of the city gained another blinking red marker, this one labelled with 'J. DARBY'.

"Let's go, Captain," Carver said. "We don't want to keep our friends waiting."

* * *

Wheeljack had expected some kind of ambush. It was inevitable, especially since he was carrying around the latest ancient relic to fall into Autobot hands. The Seal of Nova Prime was at his back, providing an odd tingling sensation all the while he rushed through the Las Vegas Strip. He did his best to ignore the feeling, his attention focused very much on the Decepticon sniper taking shots at him from further down the street. He was exposed, he knew this much, and after depositing Jack and Rafael after taking a tumble, the Autobot Wrecker had started to move. He let fly with a few shots from his fusion cannon, sending them in the Decepticon's general direction. The weapon's shots travelled too slowly for them to be effective at such a distance, as the intended target could simply move well clear of them before they hit him. Nonetheless, it was a delaying tactic, a means for Wheeljack to send the Decepticon sniper into cover while he rushed for cover of his own. Down here, this cover amounted to turning a corner and taking shelter in the shadow of a tall building, scaring the civilians scattered about the sidewalk as he moved. With his back to the building's front, Wheeljack surveyed the surrounding area and considered his options.

He was alone, from what he could tell. The human civilians rushing by him would not be of much help. As for the Decepticon sniper, he only had to lean his head slightly around the building's corner for the sharpshooter to take a shot at him. The supersonic bolt of energy slammed into the side of the building, causing Wheeljack to duck back behind it as a chunk of the wall exploded outwards, a thick cloud of dust pluming onto the road. Collateral damage would be a problem here, Wheeljack knew this much, and he realised that the Autobots already looked bad enough in the eyes of the general population. A battle in the streets of Las Vegas would hardly make him look like a hero. Not that he cared much. He had never seen himself as a "hero", simply a soldier, a warrior who had seen far too much fighting for one lifetime. Someone who's life had been nothing but war from very early on. He knew that a life in peacetime was hardly suitable for him. He had remained on Cybertron out of a sense of obligation, to help rebuild the world that the war had ravaged so thoroughly. And when trouble had started here on Earth only days before, he had been practically excited. The opportunity to take part in some actual combat after several cycles spent labouring on Cybertron had been a thrilling one. That sensation had been fleeting at best. Knock Out's death had put a crimp on the whole thing. He may not have liked the former Decepticon doctor a great deal, nor had he trusted him very much, but he had still been a part of the group. Even Wheeljack had to admit that the doctor had done his fair share for Cybertron's reconstruction.

As game as assaulting the Taskforce headquarters had been, it had lead to the unfortunate scenario of being stuck in hostile territory with no escape plan. Wheeljack had gone along with the plan just fine, he had wanted to take down the Taskforce just as much as the others. He had, however, not thought any further ahead than that. Escape had been the least of his concerns. Part of him had expected him to die during the assault. That expectation of death had always been there for him, no matter the odds. It had only become more pronounced in recent days. What was it Knock Out had asked him, in the workshop before they had come to Earth? What would he do once everything was over? Would he "settle down"? He had always expected to go down in a blaze of glory. A normal life, to him, had been an unlikely future.

It was all the more unlikely now, in his current circumstances. Wheeljack checked his fusion cannon. There was a significant amount of charge left. It would do him little good unless he could close the distance with that sniper. Even now, the Decepticon sniper was likely on the move, trying to flank around his sides. Wheeljack headed down the street on his left, continuing further into the side-streets, ignoring the panicked humans who rushed by him. He did his best not to step on any, or step on any vehicles for that matter.

Heading around a corner, Wheeljack spotted a Decepticon soldier at the far end of the street. This one was a fairly burly one, broad-shouldered and with a silver and purple finish. The Decepticon had been marching through the streets, likely in a bid to flank him. He spotted the Autobot Wrecker and shouted an alert into his comms. Wheeljack dived behind a parked car as a hail of high-calibre rounds flew his way. The Decepticon wielded a large chain-gun, loaded with armour-piercing rounds. The bullets were about the size of one of Wheeljack's fists with considerable penetrating power. Even though Cybertronian weaponry had advanced to the point of being energy-based, there were still plenty of projectile weapons around and they were often just as useful, if not more so in some circumstances. It was no surprise Cyclonus' ragtag army of Decepticons had a mix of weapons, old and new, in their armouries.

The bullets pounded through the parked car, punching holes clean through its engine. Wheeljack felt the sting as a few of them clipped him in the upper back. He rolled to one side, crossing the narrow street quickly before coming back up on his feet. He fired a shot from his fusion cannon before he jumped into the narrow alley running between a pair of fairly low buildings at his side. The fusion cannon blast hit the front of the restaurant near where the Decepticon stood, causing the whole facade to explode outwards in a flash of pink-white flame. The Decepticon soldier stumbled a few steps as bricks and glass rained down on him before he composed himself and resumed firing, sweeping the hail of bullets across the entire side-street. Tracer rounds, bright orange as they flew, slammed into the road and then the sidewalk, causing small eruptions of smoke and dust as they connected with the ground. Wheeljack remained in the alley as the hail of fire swept across its entrance, shattering the glass frontages of the buildings nearby. Several civilians were caught in the crossfire, the rounds enough to rip them to shreds. Wheeljack caught a glimpse of a woman racing for the alley entrance, a terrified look on her face before a stray shot from the Cybertronian chain-gun turned her into a red mist.

And then the shooting stopped. Wheeljack heard the recognizable sounds of a reload in progress and he rushed out of the alley, his gaze going straight for the Decepticon. The Decepticon soldier in question was fiddling with his weapon, attempting to fit a full magazine into the bottom, the chain of ammunition seemingly not fitting in as well as it should have been. Wheeljack raised his fusion cannon and started charging forwards, all the while the Decepticon soldier worked his weapon over, his movements becoming increasingly frantic, even more so when a worried glance around him made him realise he was completely exposed.

Wheeljack pulled the trigger on his fusion cannon, the blast that lanced forth connecting squarely with the Decepticon's chest. Flame shot forth and the Decepticon fell backwards. Wheeljack fired again, blowing his head apart mid-fall, before the Decepticon's body fell upon a parked car and crushed it with his weight. The car alarm began to sound as glass shattered all over the surrounding ground. Wheeljack closed the distance between him and the Decepticon gunner, sending another fusion cannon shot into him, blowing one arm clear off his torso. As the smoke cleared, Wheeljack lowered the weapon and looked around. Most of the humans had cleared the street by now, leaving several shredded corpses and wrecked vehicles. Another car alarm was sounding from further behind him, the car having received a chain-gun round through the front windshield.

_How many more 'Cons are there?_

Wheeljack considered where to go next. There was still the sniper somewhere up ahead. Ultra Magnus and Wildstrike were likely held up back at the compound. Cyclonus' ship, he realised, was now moving towards the downtown area. Wheeljack turned around and caught a glimpse of it between the casinos behind him, although the ship itself was still distant. Nearby, a car had been left abandoned, the doors wide open.

Wheeljack considered going back to find Jack and Rafael, dimly aware of the sound of a jet engine growing in volume from behind him. He heard movement up ahead at that point. A Decepticon emerged from around a corner further down the street, at least he assumed it was a Decepticon at first. This Cybertronian was tall, mostly red and orange in colour, with a crest upon its head similar to those that Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus had upon their helms. The cold blue optics, even at this distance, stood out starkly against this broad-shouldered Cybertronian's silver-metal features. And then Wheeljack saw the Autobot insignia emblazoned upon the Cybertronian's chest.

"Star Saber..." Wheeljack muttered with realization.

Bumblebee had told him about Star Saber. The Autobot religious zealot who had tortured the yellow Autobot and killed Knock Out. Wheeljack started shooting as soon as he made the connection.

Star Saber casually stepped into cover as a fusion cannon blast zipped by him, hitting a far building. There was a rush of pinkish-white flame. Debris rained down onto the street and another car alarm joined in with the others currently resounding throughout the neighbourhood. Behind Wheeljack, a feminine flier had come to stand upon the low building at the corner.

Star Saber was just visible, but stood at an angle that Wheeljack could not get a proper shot at. The Autobot Wrecker began to pace forwards, clasping his fusion cannon in his left hand while his right went for one of the grenades clipped to his waist. Behind him, the Decepticon flier raised a heavy Cybertronian pistol in his direction.

Wheeljack armed the grenade. Part of it lit up green in his hand. He raised his arm, preparing to throw it. A gunshot echoed from behind him, catching him off guard. Pain shot across his back and then his front, the Autobot Wrecker forced to stop in his tracks as the force of the shot made his legs fail underneath him. Feeling warmth across his back and chest, he looked down as he fell to his knees onto the road.

A smouldering hole had been shot into his back. He struggled to rise onto his feet, but his strength was leaving him rapidly. The world around him began to wobble and his grip on his fusion cannon slackened. The weapon fell, clattering onto the blacktop next to him. He turned around, recognition striking him as he laid optics on the one who had shot him.

"Skystreaker?" He croaked. Another shot rang out and hit him in the upper chest. He fell backwards, the grenade leaving his grip before it rolled to a stop a short distance away.

Skystreaker jumped down from the low building and started walking towards him. Wheeljack tried to push himself back up but his arms did not respond to the commands he sent them. The grenade next to him detonated and heat washed over him, followed very quickly by a wave of agonizing pain that was very much unlike anything he had experienced before. Metal melted and tore from the force of the blast, causing him to scream.

Mangled and shot, Wheeljack struggled to keep his optics from failing as Skystreaker moved to stand over him. He reached out, as futile as it was, with his right arm. The metal on there was maimed, energon fluid leaking out of numerous lacerations. He realised his right optic had gone and he could feel that entire half of his face burning. He looked up at Skystreaker, trying to work out what had compelled her to do what she did. The look in her optics was not the one he had become familiar with. This one was different, brighter, more unstable. She knelt down beside him and turned him over, tearing the Seal away from where he had clipped it. And then she stood up, leaving him lying on the road while Star Saber strode over. He eyed Wheeljack with what looked to be disdain. On his face, only his optics were visible, his battle-plate covering up the rest of it.

Skystreaker raised her weapon and went to aim it down at Wheeljack, but Star Saber put a hand out, causing her to lower the gun.

"We should keep this one," Star Saber said. Wheeljack watched him, struggling to remain conscious through the agony-induced haze.

"He'd want to be put out of his misery," Skystreaker replied, coldly.

"And we will deny him that wish." Star Saber looked down at Wheeljack, his optics narrowed if little else. Wheeljack tried to move, tried to go for the sword at his back but his arms did not respond. They fell slack against the pavement, as did the rest of him, and he fell into unconsciousness seconds later. It was a blessing, in a way, for in this state he did not feel the pain his mangled body caused him.

* * *

Doubletake had arrived on the Vegas Strip shortly after Wheeljack and had seen the Decepticon sniper take shots at the Autobot Wrecker. Wheeljack fled into a side-street and Doubletake had followed at a distance. Seeing the sniper on the rooftop, Doubletake had decided to take a shot at beating the sniper at his own game. He began to scale the side of one of the casinos, using the ledges and balconies for support. Across the city to his rear, Cyclonus' ship began its path towards the downtown area. And hanging from one of the thick cables trailing from the ship's lower ramp was Ultra Magnus, determined as ever to get to Cyclonus. Doubletake had to look twice when he saw this, although he found that he was not all that surprised. Ultra Magnus was the determined sort and hanging from a Decepticon ship over an urban centre was well within his character.

Whatever else Doubletake thought of the matter, he did not get much of a chance to properly put those thoughts together. A high powered rifle shot from afar zipped by him as he raced down the now mostly deserted Strip. It hit the road behind him, causing an explosion of debris. Doubletake immediately swerved to the left, sending himself barrelling around a corner as another shot blew a chunk out of the building in front of him. Windows shattered and masonry fell, while an elaborate neon sign erupted into sparks.

He caught a glimpse then, of Wheeljack being dragged away by Skystreaker. This happened on a side-street past one of the casinos and Doubletake made it around in time to see the female Decepticon step aboard a small Decepticon transport parked at the far end of the street. The Autobot emerged from vehicle mode and raised his weapons, knowing immediately that some kind of betrayal had occurred. However, the rear ramp of the squat utilitarian transport closed shut and the volley of submachine gun fire he let fly did very little against the transport's armour. It took off, rising over the surrounding buildings before its engines properly kicked in and sent it zooming over the city, a sonic boom erupting from it as it broke the sound barrier far faster than any human aircraft.

Doubletake found himself alone in the street. Not quite alone, he realised, when he glimpsed the sniper on a rooftop further ahead. Racing into cover behind the nearby casino, he checked over his submachine gun and considered his options. Facing off with a Decepticon sniper was not something he was particularly bound to enjoy, but it would be necessary.


	38. ConAir

**'Con Air**

Clutching the thick cable with one hand, Ultra Magnus hung somewhat freely over the streets of Las Vegas. Cyclonus' personal yacht had been gradually ascending, putting itself well above the skyscrapers situated within the city centre. Below, the Autobot Commander caught glimpses of some kind of battle occurring in the downtown area. Explosions and tracer fire streaked across one of the main streets. A fight he should no doubt be a part of, he thought, were it not for the airborne problem above him. Cyclonus was on board and had retreated within the ship. The ramp on the ship's underbelly remained lowered, although instead of General Cyclonus standing upon it, there emerged a silver Decepticon soldier wielding a plasma cannon built within one arm. He peered over the edge of the ramp, his gaze falling upon Ultra Magnus hanging some distance below.

Ultra Magnus had his right hand on the grip of his heavy rifle. Despite the weapon's heavy calibre, his Cybertronian strength was enough to allow him to bring it up one-handed. He fired a shot at the Decepticon, the blast grazing the already wobbly ramp. The Decepticon soldier took a step back out of view and Ultra Magnus fired another shot, this one blowing a hole clean through the ramp. It also blew a hole into the Decepticon standing upon it and he came falling forwards, energon fluid trailing from the gaping wound in the Decepticon's lower chest. He fell past Ultra Magnus and towards the streets below, all the while screaming as he went, partly from the pain and partly because of the fact that he was freefalling.

The Decepticon soldier went through the roof of a small office building and busted through two more floors before he finally came to a stop, his body mangled and his optics lifeless, office furniture smashed up and scattered all around, sparks flitting from broken power cables.

Ultra Magnus put his heavy rifle to his back, clipping it there magnetically before placing his other hand upon the cable. With some effort he began to climb, his frame grinding audibly from the required exertion. These ropes would be easy enough to slide down, but climbing back up them was a whole different matter entirely. He had gravity working against him for one and even with his Cybertronian strength he found himself straining.

Nonetheless, he finally came to the lowered ramp. It hung only on three of its four support struts, the fourth having been shot off during the fire-fight on the ground. Ultra Magnus placed both hands on the end of the ramp, hearing it groan as he applied his weight upon it. Hefting himself up, he threw himself upon the ramp and gripped the nearest support, finding himself looking straight up into the belly of the beast.

Cyclonus would pay for killing Wildstrike. Ultra Magnus might have been a Commander, expected to hold certain ideals, but he was not above getting revenge for his fallen comrades. It was one of the most basic of desires, the idea of 'payback'. Chances are he would feel very little if he succeeded in carrying it out, this much he knew. Experiences in the past had proven as much. Yet, the urge to acquire vengeance was a strong one. And he was not about to let Cyclonus get away, not after all he had done. Not just here on Earth in recent days, but for his involvement in the war. The Autobots he had slain, the atrocities he had committed. Cyclonus was the one holding his ragtag army together. Get rid of him and hopefully the rest would become disorganized, maybe even surrender. It was a stretch and Ultra Magnus knew that he was partly trying to justify his own desire for vengeance to himself, but he had to take into account the possibilities.

He had been on the ship before, when Cyclonus had landed at the airstrip under the guise of seeking peaceful 'negotiation'. As such, Ultra Magnus had some idea of what the interior layout was like, or at least part of it. He pulled out his heavy rifle and started up the ramp, entering the ship's lower hold where a number of metal crates were scattered about. There was a Decepticon standing further ahead, near a set of steps leading towards a door. This Decepticon, slim and mostly a deep purple in colour, raised a heavy chain-gun and started shooting. A hail of armour-piercing rounds swept through the hold, punching through the crates and rear wall. Ultra Magnus crouched down and raised his weapon, taking the time to line up the perfect shot whereas the Decepticon had panicked and fired before getting his aim true. One of the rounds clipped Ultra Magnus in the stomach but he maintained his composure and pulled the trigger on his rifle, sending the high-powered bolt of energy straight into the Decepticon's chest. He fell backwards, fire bursting outwards as his spark chamber was reduced to a smouldering hole. Ultra Magnus rose to his feet and strode past where the Decepticon guard had come to rest. The door ahead slid open, allowing him access to the elaborately decorated hall behind.

This was where the 'negotiation' had taken place. It had not changed at all, save for the placement of the Decepticons. Two stood near the far end of the table, crouched down with their weapons pointed at the door. Another stood to the right near an energon dispenser at the wall. All three had been waiting for Ultra Magnus and all three opened fire as soon as he was through the door.

Ultra Magnus dived to the right as a hail of energy bolts shot through the air near him. He landed on his side and as soon as he was on the carpeted floor, he sent a shot from his rifle into the Decepticon soldier standing to the right. The soldier's head exploded, splattering bright blue energon fluid across the wall as the rest of his body slumped against it.

Ultra Magnus shifted his aim and put another shot in the direction of the two Decepticons at the far end of the dining hall. It hit the side of the table, causing a small explosion of blue flame, the force enough to knock one of the Decepticons backwards. The Autobot Commander moved back onto his feet, facing down the pair with his rifle raised. The standing Decepticon hit him with a standard in-built energy cannon, the red bolt catching Ultra Magnus in the left arm. He barely flinched, his mind focused entirely upon the task at hand, his desire to get to Cyclonus overriding the pain. He gunned the standing Decepticon down with a pair of blasts, one of which blew the soldier's left arm clean off. The second caught him in the stomach, causing him to fall backwards against the wall by the door at the end. The Decepticon was still alive, however, and was now frantically trying to keep his mangled entrails from falling out onto the floor.

The other Decepticon was back on his feet, his jaw clenched and metal teeth gritted as he returned fire. Ultra Magnus put a bolt of energy through his chest, sending him to the floor where he remained motionless. As the smoke cleared, Ultra Magnus walked by the still living Decepticon, who had a terrified look on his face and both hands to the smouldering gash that had been torn into his stomach area. Most of the energon coated, sort-of metal but sort-of soft organs that Ultra Magnus could see were scorched and mangled, likely beyond repair. He was surprised that this Decepticon was even still alive.

Ultra Magnus stepped by him and through the next door, barely giving the wounded Decepticon a second thought as he strolled into the narrow corridor beyond. Here, there were two sets of stairs heading down into the ship's lower level. Ahead was a door that presumably went into the ship's cockpit. It made sense to check the cockpit first, as it was most likely where Cyclonus would be. He was not mistaken, as Ultra Magnus stepped into the cockpit and found Cyclonus standing before the main controls. On a holographic overlay upon the thick cockpit windows was displayed a map of the city below. Another marker, with an Autobot emblem, was heading rapidly out of the city and into the surrounding desert. Cyclonus gazed at it, seemingly oblivious to Ultra Magnus' entrance. There was another Decepticon in the cockpit, this one rising out of a seat to the left, weapon drawn.

Ultra Magnus shot this Decepticon down immediately, his superior reflexes planting a shot into the Decepticon soldier's face. This sent him falling across the floor between the two seats.

"I have been betrayed," Cyclonus said, watching the display in front of him. He did not turn around but was no doubt aware of Ultra Magnus' presence. "Star Saber escapes with the Seal. And it appears I will not be able to repay his treacherous actions in turn." Slowly, he turned around. Cyclonus appeared unarmed, although with a Decepticon one could never be sure. The General seemed to be strangely calm. Ultra Magnus pointed his rifle towards him.

"You should get better friends," Ultra Magnus replied. His voice was stern, his patience thin. Now his wounds were starting to hurt, the rush of battle having since died down.

"I have locked out the controls," Cyclonus said. He placed one hand upon a holographic panel to his left. Ultra Magnus watched his movements closely but did not shoot. Not just yet. Part of him wanted to hear the General out. "They respond only to my life signature."

"You killed Wildstrike," Ultra Magnus said.

"A shot intended for you," Cyclonus replied. "You should understand, a warrior like yourself, that I did what I had to in order to ensure a future for my people. Working with the religious zealot Star Saber was a means to an end. Leaving the Seal in his hands is a mistake." He paused for a moment to consider what else to add. "You and I, we are much alike. We both lead armies. We both care about those who serve under us dearly. And we both fight for a cause we believe in. On the battlefield, we eliminate our foes with brutal efficiency. Surely, Magnus, if there was ever to be an alliance between the two of us, it would be now, in the face of the common foe that is Star Saber?"

Ultra Magnus did not reply. It sounded like Cyclonus was simply stalling, buying time, likely ready to draw a weapon when the Autobot Commander dropped his guard. He would not let this Decepticon manipulate him.

"You blew the chance of an alliance, General," Ultra Magnus said.

"I did what needed to be done," Cyclonus replied. "The Decepticons are not just fodder for your Autobot guns. Every one of them under my command has their own story. They are just like you, just like your Autobots. They have names and lives." He paused for a few seconds, before he added: _"Tickle us, Commander, and do we not laugh? Prick us, and do we not bleed? Wrong us, and shall we not revenge?"_

Ultra Magnus said nothing. He saw Wildstrike in his optics, in her dying moments and then he saw her again, when he had promised her that they would become bonded when they were back on Cybertron. He had intended to live out his life with her at his side. That hope had been dashed because of Cyclonus. No amount of moralising would change that.

"I think now, General, you might consider a different question," Ultra Magnus said. Cyclonus raised an optic ridge, curious.

"And what is that?"

_"To be..." _Ultra Magnus shifted the rifle in his arms, pointing the barrel towards Cyclonus. "_Or not to be?"_ He gave Cyclonus just enough time for the reference to register before he pulled the trigger. The heavy rifle's shot was deafening inside the confines of the cockpit. Cyclonus was hit squarely in the chest, the force of the shot enough to lift him off of his feet and send him through the holographic overlay. He connected with the cockpit window and part of it broke when his head connected with it, sending thick glass shards raining down before Cyclonus' body came to a rest across the top of the main controls. Energon fluid pooled around him and trickled down the terminals.

Ultra Magnus had been right: he felt little different after doing the deed. Nonetheless, they were down one major threat. Now he only had to contend with the fact that the ship he was on had entered a sudden forward dive, shifting quickly so that its nose was pointed firmly at the ground.

The Autobot Commander lowered his rifle and rushed to the control terminals. Pushing Cyclonus' lifeless corpse aside, he found on one of the displays that someone had programmed a particular downward course into the navigation computer, to be triggered through certain circumstances. No wonder Cyclonus had locked out the controls: he had programmed the ship to crash into Las Vegas upon his death, as the scanners on board had likely been attuned to his life signature. Ultra Magnus did not have the knowledge to hack computers, certainly not Decepticon ones.

Looking ahead through the partially smashed cockpit window, he saw that the downtown area of Las Vegas was rushing towards him at an alarming rate. With little time and few options, he turned around and started running. The engines were at full bore now, propelling the ship onwards along its doomed trajectory. All Ultra Magnus could do was run for the opposite end of the ship and hope for the best.

* * *

As much as Doubletake would have liked to take down the Decepticon sniper further down the Vegas Strip, he found himself distracted by the Decepticon scout ship heading nose-first for the downtown area. Cyclonus' personal yacht, heavily armoured and thoroughly modified, had been well on its way for the city's urban centre. It was only now it had made a slight course alteration. Doubletake stood in the shelter just outside the front of a lavish and tall casino, out of view of the Decepticon sniper who was moving about the rooftops further down the street, when he looked towards the ship and saw where it was headed. It was an average-sized vessel by Cybertronian standards, with visible clamps along the sides and roof that would have docked it snugly into the far larger cruiser that Cyclonus no doubt had at his disposal, wherever it was. The ship was descending rapidly, its engines roaring at full burn as it clipped the top of a building back down the street, causing chunks of cement and shards of glass to rain down upon the street below. Whatever civilians were still out and about had taken to running in the opposite direction of the oncoming ship. It was clear to the Autobot enforcer that the vessel was not about to adjust its heading. Whoever was at the helm had set it on this course intentionally. That was if there was anyone actually manning the ship's controls.

Doubletake watched as the large black metal hulk went straight into the Vegas Strip, the front connecting with the side of one building on the corner, knocking the bottom few floors out from underneath. The whole building started to come down, brickwork crumbling and steelwork bending. A cloud of dust erupted forth as the building collapsed upon the rest of the ship as it hit the road and began to carve its way into the asphalt. Parked cars were tossed aside like toys as it swept its way along the road, going by the casino Doubletake was outside of, sending up a wave of dust and debris as it went. Despite the width of the street, it was still not quite large enough to accommodate the full size of the ship. The bottom floors of buildings across the street were obliterated, simply wiped out by the ship as it dragged itself along the road, carried forwards by the momentum the still working engines provided it. The ship travelled at a slight angle, one that took it by Doubletake's position, showering him with dust and debris before it knocked aside a row of hedges and the front of the ship went straight into the front of the lavish casino. The shelter over the facade out the front entrance was knocked aside, stone crumbling all around. Doubletake had to dive out of the way as part of it fell down by him, the air around him thick with the dust that had been brought up from the ship's path of destruction.

Still, it was not over. The ship's engines continued roaring despite the fact it was firmly stuck in the front of a casino. The entire front section of the building had begun to crumble, glass and brick falling down from several floors up. Car alarms sounded from all over the street, as did the screams of panicked humans. Doubletake heard the recognizable 'chop-chop' of helicopter blades and he looked up and saw the news helicopter that had begun to circle the site of the destruction. He was not sure whether being on camera was a good or bad thing in these circumstances. Nonetheless, he could at least rest easy for a moment, as it appeared that Cyclonus' personal ship had come to a halt. Even its engines had died, as if whatever computer that had set it on its destructive path had been disabled or had switched off the engines to conserve energy upon becoming aware of its 'stuck' state.

The rear ramp was open. Doubletake walked over to it slowly, his submachine gun clutched in his right hand. Raising it as he rounded the side of the ship and before the extended ramp, he half-expected Cyclonus to walk out. Nearby, one of the engines had cracked along the side, exposing the volatile energy core that powered it. Thick, refined energon flowed out, pooling around the rear of the ship. Doubletake avoided the noxious substance and kept his attention focused on what lay past the ramp. He could hear footsteps clanging upon the metal, uneven ones at that, as if the one causing them was hurt and struggling to move.

He recognized Ultra Magnus right away. The Autobot Commander stumbled out of the rear of the ship, his heavy rifle clutched in one hand. His optics fell upon Doubletake and a hint of relief crossed his face, if the Autobot enforcer was not mistaken. It did not last long, as Ultra Magnus keeled over, falling onto all fours as he stepped off of the ramp. Doubletake rushed over to him and put one arm around him, helping him back onto his feet before leading him into cover behind the crashed ship.

"Commander," Doubletake said, allowing him to leave his grasp. Ultra Magnus slumped against the side of the ship, his face taking on a pained expression as his wounds began to get the better of him. There were several of them, among them a few holes in his armour caused by energy weapons and a couple more from projectile weapons. That was not to mention all the other scuffs and scrapes that marred his burly form.

"Where's Cyclonus?" Doubletake asked.

Ultra Magnus looked up at him. His face was serious, as it so often was.

"He won't be a problem anymore," he stated, flatly. He closed his optics then and his head lulled to one side, his body relaxing. He had fallen unconscious. Sooner or later he would need proper medical attention. How they would get that when there were no Cybertronian medics around, he had no idea.

Doubletake looked back to the street. The devastation was extreme, to say the least, with most of the road having been torn up during the ship's crash. Wrecked cars were scattered about, buildings were wrecked and spot fires raged. Doubletake took a few steps forwards, only for weapons fire to ring out from somewhere to his right. Red energy bolts zipped by him and he jumped backwards, taking cover behind the crashed ship while he slowly leaned his head around to take a look.

The Decepticon sniper had come to check out the crash. Hardtop had put his sniper rifle to his back and had drawn a side-arm. Now he was striding towards Doubletake's position. Doubletake would have normally attempted to flank his opponent in such a situation, but a look behind him at where Ultra Magnus was made this course of action a no-go. Leaving this position would put Ultra Magnus at the mercy of a Decepticon and Doubletake was not about to let that happen.

Hardtop fired another volley, forcing Doubletake to duck back into cover. The Autobot cop considered his options, his gaze going towards the ship his back was against, specifically the top. There was a possibility there. He chewed thoughtfully on the end of the emergency flare jutting from his mouth. Putting his submachine gun away, he put both hands to the metal of the ship's armour and began to climb.

It was not too difficult, given all the little grooves and niches that covered the heavily modified ship. The armour plating was far from seamless and Doubletake was able to scramble up the side and onto the top fairly quickly. Below, near the ship's rear, Hardtop had stopped, having heard the scraping that Doubletake had inadvertently caused in his hurry to get on top of the ship. He turned to look at the ship's rear, his pistol raised.

Doubletake pulled out his submachine gun and sprang up out of cover, firing down at Hardtop who dived to one side, landing in the ever-growing pool of noxious fuel that poured from one of the engines. Hardtop landed face-first, slipping in the mess, the grass underneath providing no purchase for him to get hold of. Nonetheless, he managed to scramble onto his feet, smothered in the thick, gooey energon-based fuel.

Doubletake opened fire, two of the shots clipping Hardtop in the side. The Decepticon grunted in pain and fell to his knees, only to return fire, causing Doubletake to duck. The Autobot checked the ammunition in his weapon, finding it close to empty. Barely enough to finish off a Decepticon. He took note of the thick fuel and the fact that Hardtop was covered in it. With one hand, he pulled the emergency flare out of his mouth, an idea forming in his mind that he would have normally considered 'unconventional'. The bottom end was covered in slight indentations from where his metal teeth had bitten into it, but otherwise it was mostly intact and perfectly serviceable.

Hardtop fired his pistol several more times from where he was, all the while slowly rising back on his feet. There was a look of anger on his face, one hand to his side where Doubletake had shot him. The wounds were having an adverse effect on his aim, judging from how most of his shots were flying completely wide of Doubletake. The Autobot cop replied by emptying the last handful of rounds in his submachine gun, hitting Hardtop in the chest. He stumbled, the fresh new wounds causing him to groan, his jaw clenched.

Doubletake tucked away his submachine gun and used his now free hand to twist the emergency flare, igniting it. Red smoke and sparks poured from one end, casting him in a pulsating glow. He looked to Hardtop, who had stumbled again, landing on all fours while energon bled from his wounds. Hardtop looked towards him, his optics hidden beneath the yellow combat visor he wore. Judging from the way his mouth went agape, Doubletake figured that the Decepticon had realised what was coming.

"You have the right to remain silent," Doubletake stated, his voice cold. He dropped the flare, sending it down into the pool of thick fuel. As soon as the ignited end of the flare hit the pool, searing blue flame exploded upwards, spreading across the whole of the large puddle in seconds. Hardtop was amongst all this. He was quickly enveloped in blue flame, flame hot enough to melt his armour. The heat coming up from below caused Doubletake to step back from the edge of the ship. He did not stay to watch Hardtop burn. Instead, he slid down the side of the ship and rushed back for Ultra Magnus, who was starting to come to.

Hardtop started to scream in short order. Alight, he thrashed about in the blue flames, his armour melting off of his form, the sensitive metallic protoform flesh beneath even more susceptible to the intense heat. By the time much of that was exposed, Hardtop had fallen silent and still, disappearing amongst the burning fire.

Doubletake grabbed Ultra Magnus by one arm, helping the Autobot Commander back onto his feet.

"We should move," Doubletake suggested. The fires continued to rage at the rear of the ship, encroaching upon the engines. One streak of flame shot up into the damaged engine. Behind the pair of Autobots, there was the loud _thump_ of a sudden and violent explosion. A blue-white fireball erupted from the damaged engine, blasting out flames that swept out onto the street.

Doubletake and Ultra Magnus had started to run while the rear section of the ship began to creak, cracks shooting through the armour plating as explosions rocked the interior. Parts of it erupted outwards, throwing searing hot pieces of metal all about the area. Heat washed over the fleeing pair as the rest of the ship promptly detonated, the concussive force enough to throw both of them to the ground. The shockwave was powerful enough to push several parked cars out of their places, shattering windows in the neighbouring buildings and the casino the ship had crashed into the base of. The rumble of the explosion was deafening, even for Cybertronian ears. The fireball rose high above the street, visible from all across the city. The front section of the already wrecked casino began to fall, collapsing across the wreck of the ship at its base.

And, within moments, it was all quiet. Small fires burned all around and metal debris littered the area. Doubletake rose to his feet. There was ringing in his head that had only just started to recede. Ultra Magnus stood up after him and the pair turned to survey the destruction. There was not much left of Cyclonus' personal ship, save for the bottom half of the ship's general skeleton. Chunks of smouldering armour plating had been thrown every which way. A few were stuck in the casino building, jutting out of it at awkward angles. The first several floors had been obliterated about halfway through, leaving the back half the structure still standing and the wrecked interior completely visible from the outside. Broken cables hung limply, sparking sporadically.

"At least now we can be sure Cyclonus isn't going to come back," Doubletake said. "He'd be nothing but dust now." He had not meant for things to get _this_ explosive. Ultra Magnus turned to him, his optics narrowed, a frown etched upon his face.

"What exactly did you do?" The Autobot Commander asked.

"Fuel leak. Stray fire. You can see the result, sir."

There was a brief silence between the two. Doubletake considered their next course of action, as Ultra Magnus most certainly was.

"We need to find the others," Ultra Magnus said. "I'll go and get Jack and Rafael. You find Bumblebee. We need to know if he's still alive, or if he's wounded."

"And what about the rest of the Decepticons?" Doubletake asked. "I saw Skystreaker dragging Wheeljack away. She took him on board a Decepticon transport. She even took the Seal from him. They could be going anywhere."

Ultra Magnus scrunched up his face when he heard this.

"So Skystreaker finally betrayed us?" He pondered this for a moment, disgust evident in the way his frown contorted itself into a scowl. "We can still find Wheeljack. He planted a tracker in Dragstrip. With any luck, Dragstrip is on Cyclonus' cruiser. He'll lead us straight to their base of operations."

Doubletake recalled the business with the tracker. He had become so caught up in recent events that he had nearly forgotten all about it.

"Are we going to attack their base head-on? Like we did with the Taskforce?" Doubletake motioned with one hand at the destruction evident around them. "Because that worked out pretty well, I think."

"We'll think of something," Ultra Magnus replied. "For now, Doubletake, you have your orders. Find Bumblebee. I'll find Jack and Rafael." With that, he turned around and started to walk away, transforming once he stepped onto the road. He sped away, weaving around the debris and destroyed vehicles that were scattered across the street.

Doubletake watched him leave, all the while trying to think of a place to start when it came to locating Bumblebee. Going back to the Taskforce compound and working his way from there was probably a safe bet.


	39. Shut Down and No Place to Go

**Shut Down and No Place To Go**

When Cyclonus' ship was busy carving its way through the Las Vegas Strip, both Jack and Rafael had worked their way through the Four Dragons casino to a rear entrance, one that would normally have been for staff only were it not for the chaos happening outside, and inside to an extent. Jack lead the way, going through a maintenance corridor before coming to a door that took them outside into a staff car park. Several cars were parked around here, with a boom-gate at the entrance. General Williamson had said that there would be cars coming to pick them up. This had been about fifteen minutes ago, so Jack could only hope that the cars in question were close to arriving. As for the street ahead, it was surprisingly deserted. Most of the people out here had fled or gone indoors. A trio of cars had slammed into each other at some point earlier on, with one front-end reduced to a wreck and another's rear end severely dented. The third car had gone into a brick wall near the entrance of the car park, white smoke wafting out of its damaged engine. Out on the Vegas Strip, Cyclonus' personal ship had smashed its way through rows of cars, all the while carving a large trench in the road. The whole downtown area had become a warzone, although there appeared to be no Decepticons in the immediate vicinity.

As for the Taskforce, Jack could see no sign of them. Cautiously, he stepped out onto the sidewalk, with Rafael a few paces behind. From the distance, he could hear the sound of weapons fire. A pair of F-22 jets shot overhead, engines roaring loudly. Jack had no weapon on him now, as he had dumped his backpack of ammunition in the Taskforce facility. He had lost his guns in the chaos there as well, leaving him only with a Beretta 9mm pistol that he had since run out of rounds for. There was not much an unloaded pistol could do for him, especially if any Decepticons showed.

"Where are they?" Rafael asked. Jack looked down both ends of the street. There were no military vehicles present. Certainly no law enforcement. They were likely busy elsewhere, trying to keep order. A quiet street like this, so close to the fighting, was in one part of the city people would actively be trying to avoid.

Before he could reply, he heard the rumble of an engine. He looked down the end of the street on his right, watching as a large military Hummer, complete with urban camouflage pattern, came speeding down the road. It was followed by another, this one mounted with a TOW missile launcher. Both screeched to a halt on the side of the road. Armed soldiers piled out of both vehicles, each carrying an M4 assault rifle. They spread out along the road, covering each approach. Jack felt uneasy with the way a few of them had their weapons pointed at him and Rafael. He was surprised when General Williamson himself climbed out of the rear vehicle, apparently not content to sit in his office and oversee the mission from there.

"General," Jack said. The General regarded him with some noticeable disdain, narrowing his eyes as he stepped towards him.

"Where is it?" Williamson asked, his voice stern.

"What?"

"The information. The stuff you said would expose the Taskforce for what they really are."

Rafael took a step forwards then, one hand going in a pocket in his trousers before it retrieved a small USB flash drive. He held it up, getting Williamson's attention.

"I'm going to have to arrest the pair of you, you do realise that?" The General returned his attention to Jack. "You are, after all, wanted fugitives."

"We were set up," Jack said. He did not fancy spending God-knew-how-long locked in some cell in a military base. "The whole thing, with the President and the Autobots? It was all part of his plan. It's on the data stick."

"You can tell that to the judge," Williamson said. He motioned to the soldiers standing behind him. "Cuff these two."

Jack felt like protesting, even putting up a struggle. However, he decided against it. They would beat him into submission if they had to, there was no doubt in his mind about that. However, something caught the attention of one of the soldiers standing far to Jack's left.

"General, we have incoming," the soldier announced. He pointed down the street as Williamson turned to look at whatever had caught his interest. Jack followed his gaze, watching as a matte black four-wheel drive sped into view from around the corner. The driver's side window was down and a hand was out, clutching in it a white handkerchief. It billowed in the breeze as the sleek Escalade trundled down the street. Jack could make out the Colonel's familiar face through the open window.

_How did he find us?_ Jack wondered. The soldiers ahead all shifted their attention to the car, training their weapons on it as it pulled to a halt about thirty metres away. Colonel Carver leaned out of the window, putting the white handkerchief aside while he took in the scene ahead of him. There was a flash of animosity in his eyes as they went to Jack and Rafael. It was gone quickly, his expression an affable one as he regarded General Williamson and the group of soldiers with him.

"General," Carver said from where he sat in the vehicle. "Don't you and your jarheads have more pressing matters to attend to? Such as the defence of this city?" There was a hint of condescension in his voice. Williamson frowned in response.

"What do you want, Colonel?" He asked. The contempt in his voice was pretty clear, not that Carver seemed bothered by it.

"These two," he said, pointing a finger at Jack and in turn, Rafael. "I have come to place them under Taskforce custody. What they have done, to my fine organization, puts them under our jurisdiction. Surely you can understand that, General. They've gone and dragged you into all of this in an act of desperation. They are fugitives, General. Criminals who would seek to bring down the Taskforce, and in turn our only defence against the Cybertronian menace." He paused, narrowing his eyes. "Whatever they have told you is likely nothing but lies. My associate, Captain Van Cleef, will be out to show you evidence of this."

"Don't trust him," Jack said, looking to the General.

Williamson said nothing. He appeared to be pondering the choice before him.

Jack looked to Carver's vehicle. There was movement through the dark tinted windshield. Someone was in the other seat, likely Van Cleef. However, his gaze went to one of the windows across the road then. Someone had moved by the blinds, casting a fleeting shadow across them. Civilian? Maybe. But Jack could not be sure.

The driver's side door opened and Van Cleef stepped out. He stood behind the car door, watching the soldiers. The whole world around them seemed to fall silent in that moment, made all the more surreal when one of the soldiers fell over with a bullet in his head. A window across the street shattered at the same time.

Van Cleef pulled a pump-action shotgun from inside the vehicle, one with a large rounded suppressor screwed upon the barrel. Carver quickly rolled up his window as the Taskforce agents in the building across the street opened fire with suppressed submachine guns. The gunshots were subdued from such weapons, especially at this distance. Jack hit the ground then, going behind the nearby wall, dragging Rafael along with him.

The soldiers were caught by surprise, with another two being gunned down, riddled with bloody holes. The soldier manning the TOW launcher swivelled it towards the building across the street but caught a bullet in the jaw. The hot lead sheared it clean off the rest of his face, his body slumping off the side of the Hummer while blood gushed from his mangled face. Van Cleef pulled the trigger on his shotgun, the suppressed weapon making a faint 'cough' as buckshot flew out and hit the General square in the head. Part of it was blown away and the General himself fell backwards, landing in a heap on the pavement.

The remaining soldiers fired on the Colonel's car but it was armoured, rendered practically bulletproof. Rifle rounds that hit the windows left only small white marks. Few were able to leave any real holes in the doors. Colonel Carver remained seated, calmly watching the carnage through the bulletproof window. Van Cleef, in cover behind the armoured car, remained standing as he continued firing at the retreating soldiers. He took another one down, leaving him with numerous small holes in his vest. The few that were still standing had fallen back into cover behind the Hummers, but this did little to protect them from the gunmen across the street. Suppressed submachine guns sputtered and the soldiers were cut down quickly. Jack and Rafael watched the whole ordeal from behind the wall, peering around it ever so slightly, hoping that someone would be able to take out either Van Cleef or Carver. No one did and now there were about ten dead soldiers and a General scattered around the back of an Oriental-themed casino.

"Come on," Jack said to Rafael. He turned around and started running for the casino's rear entrance, heading back the way they had come. Rafael followed and the pair barged through the door and through the staff entrance. Behind them, a few bullets caught the doorway, planting themselves in the metal and surrounding brickwork.

They continued running, Jack in the lead, until they found themselves back in the ground floor hall. Most of the people here had cleared out, although some civilians remained. Two men were helping themselves to the drinks behind the bar, another had started shovelling casino chips into a garbage bag from the deserted counter at the far end. As for security guards, there were none around.

Jack ignored the "patrons" helping themselves and started for the front entrance. Rafael followed and the pair raced for the entrance lobby, well aware that the Taskforce would be right behind them.

They were also right ahead of them, judging from how several Taskforce operatives barged in through the front entrance. They were armed with submachine guns, mostly variations on the classic MP5 model, each with suppressors screwed onto the end of the barrel. There were about half a dozen operatives altogether at the front entrance, rushing inside with their weapons raised.

"Shit," Jack said, his heart pounding. He turned around and started running in the opposite direction, as did Rafael. They were truly hemmed in now, especially since another trio of operatives came in through the rear entrance from where Jack and Rafael had emerged moments earlier.

Jack looked around quickly, trying to find some kind of escape route. He started running for the restaurant at the far corner of the hall, Rafael following him for lack of a better option. The operatives coming through the rear entrance started shooting, bullets tearing up a roulette table as Jack and Rafael bolted by it. The guy helping himself to casino chips turned around upon hearing the noise of the bullets ripping apart the tables and the lavish red carpet. A few stray rounds caught him in the chest, sending him falling while his bag full of casino chips and wads of cash hit the floor and spilled open.

Jack rushed into the restaurant's dining area. There was very little cover here, save for the wooden tables and chairs, none of which would actually stop bullets. He caught sight of the kitchen at the far wall, as well as the counter from where plates of food would be placed upon before being taken to their tables. With the operatives rushing onto the casino floor, Jack saw few other options. All the running was starting to leave him a little breathless, as it was with Rafael who was not quite as fit as he was. He exchanged glances with the younger man, seeing the fear in his eyes. He could feel it too, he just did his best to keep it hidden.

Two of the operatives stormed into the dining area. Both started shooting and Jack rushed for the kitchen counter, diving over it as bullets slammed into the walls and furniture around him. Rafael charged for the kitchen door, stumbling through it. Jack hit the kitchen floor on the other side, the tiles doing little to cushion his landing. Bullets tore up the tables and chairs just outside, sending splinters of wood flying. Several found their way into the kitchen, pinging against the pots and pans hanging over the stove on Jack's right. Some hit the far wall, blasting chunks out of the white tiles there. Jack kept low, as did Rafael, and he began to crawl for the other door. A round hit a block of knives on a bench against the wall, sending it falling off of the edge where it thudded against the floor near Jack's head. Several of the knifes slid out, including one of the sizeable chef's knives that looked more than lethal if put to certain use. Jack grabbed it by the hilt before he motioned to Rafael, who was lying prone on the floor nearby.

_Get to the door._ Rafael obeyed the unspoken order, rising to his feet yet staying low as he charged for the door. Pushing it open, he rushed out into the corridor beyond. Jack turned his attention to the kitchen door by the counter as one of the operatives kicked it open, his submachine gun raised.

Jack rose to a crouching position, one hand going to the metal trolley by the bench in the centre of the large kitchen. He pushed it, sending it rolling quickly for the Taskforce operative. It hit him in the legs, making him stumble momentarily, enough for Jack to run at him with the knife raised. The operative went to swat it away, swinging the stock of his submachine gun around the right. Jack ducked underneath it and plunged the blade of the knife into the man's side, going around the Kevlar vest he wore. The operative let out a gasp and Jack pulled the knife to the side, cutting him open further, doing so more on impulse rather than on any proper thought. He had never killed anyone face-to-face before. Shooting a few Taskforce goons here and there was one thing, but to stab a man and essentially disembowel him? That was something Jack would have found sickening in any normal situation. _This was not a normal situation_.

The operative fell backwards, the hilt of the knife jutting from his side, blood gushing from the deep gash it had made in his stomach. He fell back against a kitchen bench, knocking aside several plates, sending them smashing onto the floor. Jack snatched the submachine gun from his grip and took the spare magazines the operative had been wearing at the pouches on his vest. It was an MP5/10, chambered for the powerful 10mm Auto round. It also had a suppressor stuck on the end of the barrel, making its gunshots significantly quieter.

Glimpsing back, he saw Rafael leave through the door at the end of the kitchen. Out in the restaurant, an operative opened fire. Jack dived to the floor once again, bullets zipping through the air above him, tearing into the tiles on the wall, clipping the benches and the stove near him. Pots and pans hanging over one of the stoves clanked and clanged as they were punched with holes. Jack crawled towards the kitchen counter that looked into the restaurant area. Sticking the submachine gun over the top, he fired blindly, spraying the weapon from left to right on full automatic. The magazine was emptied within seconds and he pulled his arms down, ejecting the spent magazine before quickly slamming a new one home into the weapon. He peeked over the counter, seeing that the Taskforce operative who had been out there shooting was now on the floor, blood pooling around him.

Jack stood up, catching sight of another three of the operatives who came running into the dining area. He turned around and ran for the far door, preferring to take his chances elsewhere. By the look of things, the entire building was surrounded and chances are Colonel Carver would bring in even more troops, if only to ensure both Jack and Rafael were killed. That man would stop at nothing until they were dead.

Jack barged through the door and entered a staff corridor. Rafael was running for the stairwell at the far end. Jack began to follow, glancing behind him as he went. Both of them entered the stairwell seconds later, stopping at the base of the stairs for a moment as they considered their options.

"What do we do?" Rafael asked, his eyes wide as he glared at Jack. "We're boxed in. Outnumbered and outgunned. Unless the Autobots step in to help our chances aren't great." He sounded abnormally pessimistic. The situation was certainly an extraordinary one, so maybe a bit of pessimism was to be expected, even from Rafael.

"We'll go upstairs," Jack said. "Lose them in the hotel area. The basement would be a dead-end." He really did not know how they would get out of this one. There was not much time for further deliberation, as a Taskforce operative emerged from the kitchen door back down the hall. He sighted them through the window on the stairwell door and immediately opened fire. Bullets punched through the flimsy metal with ease. Both Jack and Rafael bolted for the stairs, starting up the first flight. It required a sure amount of effort to race uphill, with gravity ensuring that their legs were aching by the time they were several floors up.

Jack did not fancy their chances inside the building, not that he said as much to Rafael. Fighting Cybertronians was one thing, but being hunted down by a black ops group was another and he could not help shake the feeling that he may have been a slight bit out of his depth. Still, he retained his nerves, his desire to bring down the Taskforce overriding any anxiety he might have been feeling. Colonel Carver would pay for everything he had done, from working with the Decepticons, to killing Fowler and to abducting Miko. If he had hurt her in any way...

* * *

Through a haze of burning pain and throbbing within his head, Wheeljack opened his optics and found himself looking up at a grey metal ceiling. A bright white light was fixed above him and he squinted momentarily as his optics adjusted. At least, his one remaining optic adjusted under the harsh light. As for his other one, it was practically gone, the socket covered over with a mess of jagged metal "flesh". He could see his reflection in the glazed surface of the ceiling. His good looks had suffered tremendously, leaving the entire right half of his face a scorched, melted mess. He had sometimes thought that eventually all those times playing around with grenades would backfire on him one day. Apparently today had been that day.

His back hurt where he had been shot. His chest hurt even more where a scorched hole had been blown through his armour, exposing the sensitive protoform-flesh underneath. The fin on the right side of his head was gone. Armour covering his upper right arm had been blown off, with blackened chunks stuck in places. Metal had melted, twisted and hardened across his right arm and the right side of his head. Whatever nerve endings had been there had been all but destroyed, leaving him feeling numb in places, burning pain in others. Even his upper torso had copped some damage, dented and scorch-marked, the blackened sections contrasting sharply to his mostly white finish.

He could just hear the hum of a space-ship's engines. He was likely on board Cyclonus' cruiser, wherever that was, and he could see right away that he was strapped to a metal table with energy cuffs. His arms and legs could move very little. Wounded and powerless, Wheeljack did not feel despair like many others would. Instead, he felt anger. Pure, unbridled rage at his predicament and, upon remembering how he had come to be here, this rage exploded. He screamed at the ceiling and fought against his bindings, only for the effort to send pain shooting down his right side. He could gain some consolation in the fact that he still had all his limbs, even if his right arm was as messed up as it was.

He heard footsteps then and he turned his head, looking to a metal door to the far right that was set into the wall. It slid open and Skystreaker strolled inside, her swaying feminine gait somewhat more pronounced than usual. The door closed behind her and she walked up to where Wheeljack lay, a smirk appearing on her face. Wheeljack looked straight up at her, confusion rushing over him. She had shot him. She had brought him here. She had been in league with that other one, that Autobot..._Star Saber._ The one Bumblebee had told him about. The one who worshipped Nova Prime. Wheeljack had little knowledge of the figure, save for the fact that he was not exactly a "good guy". As for Skystreaker, he simply glared at her. He tried to speak, but his voice-box was sore and all that came out was a subdued groan.

"Wheeljack," Skystreaker said, her tone strangely sweet. She stood next to him and leaned down, running a hand over the intact side of his face. It was an oddly loving gesture. "I know an Autobot such as yourself would not wish to suffer the indignity of a slow death. But Star Saber wanted you alive."

"Why?" Wheeljack had known she was trouble upon meeting her. Then again, some would say the same thing about him. Maybe that had been what had drawn them together.

_Never trust a 'Con,_ he thought. He had allowed this female to get the better of him. Not a mistake he made often, but when it did happen it _hurt_. This time around, it hurt far more than ever before, not just emotionally but physically.

"I had an Autobot guardian, a 'father', even if he was not my actual sire," Skystreaker said. She was leaning close to him, her optics gazing intently into his own. "He was part of Star Saber's church. One of its highest ranking members. And they raised me, at first. They had selected me for a purpose, Jackie. One that my Autobot 'father' became disillusioned with. So he took me away when I was young, hid me from Star Saber and killed most of the other officials in the Church of the Thirteen. And you know what my guardian did to me, Jackie?"

Wheeljack said nothing. He realised that he had been drawn into something far greater than him, something that had likely been going on behind the scenes for a very long time. He was just a casualty, drawn into it by a smart-mouthed female Decepticon.

"He changed who I was. He did a barbaric operation on my head, did his best to erase what memories I had of my previous life and of who I really was. You can just make out the scars, on the back of my head." Skystreaker tenderly trailed the fingers of one hand across Wheeljack's chest. An intimate touch, no less, and she paused her fingers at the armour over his spark chamber, her expression turning to a thoughtful one.

"I was lead to live a life I was not intended for," Skystreaker said. "I've been living a lie. Star Saber reversed what had been done, returned me to my true self. I know what I am for, Wheeljack. The prophecies in the Book of Nova Prime say as much."

"I've never...been one for religion..." Wheeljack struggled to speak, the words escaping his mouth as a strained rasp.

"My Autobot guardian tried to lead me to the Seal, in his own way. To make sure Star Saber did not get it. But in doing so, he lead me straight to Star Saber. And to my true calling."

"The Seal?" Wheeljack remembered that now. He had been carrying the relic when he had been gunned down by the very female standing next to him.

"It is an outlet for Nova Prime's essence," Skystreaker explained. "A means for him to break out of the void he was banished to. A means for him to be reborn."

"Who's Nova Prime?" Wheeljack was not going anywhere soon. He figured he should try and learn as much about what was going on as he could. All the while, he was trying to figure out some kind of escape. Usually when someone crossed him like Skystreaker had, he killed them. However, he realised he had his doubts about killing her. It was not normally something he had difficulty with, but with her...There was something about her, he realised. Something he could sense. Something that was casting doubt over him like a grey fog.

"One of the original thirteen Primes," Skystreaker said. "He believed with certainty the superiority of the Cybertronian species. He wanted to elevate us to supreme rulers of the galaxy. Under his lead, our race conquered countless others. Always testing the limits of science and faith, he created weapons of immense destructive power. For a time, the Cybertronian people ruled over much of the galaxy, using these weapons to incite fear into the lesser races. They worshipped us like Gods, Wheeljack."

"I take it...things didn't last?" Wheeljack tried to smile at his own remark but his face hurt too much.

"The other Primes became disgusted with him. They betrayed him and, in a great battle, banished him into the void that exists outside the boundaries of our own reality. But not before he deposited a fraction of his essence into the Seal and hid it on a backwater world. The other Primes dismantled his weapons of destruction and lessened their hold over the regions they controlled, essentially turning us into glorified peacekeepers. And then the empire degenerated and our species became contained to only a handful of worlds, content. There was the so-called 'Golden Age' of Cybertron, but all that did was increase our degeneracy. People stopped believing, figures like Nova Prime became myth."

"This is all really fascinating," Wheeljack deadpanned. He squirmed against his bindings, pain shooting through his right arm from the movement. "What has this got to do with me? Or you?" His voicebox still hurt, although the pain had eased a bit. His voice still sounded strained.

"I was chosen," Skystreaker said. "To be Nova Prime's new vessel. In a sense."

"And me?"

"The Seal reacted to you, didn't it? A slight warmth, maybe a tingle? It does that with only suitable vessels. Prime material. Or those few that Nova Prime deems worthy enough to bear his power. He chose you as well, Wheeljack. I think you've at the very least _sensed_ why."

There it was again. He could feel it, emanating from her. Something, he felt, was a part of him, or at least had part of him within it.

"I'm carrying," Skystreaker said. She smiled, although it was an oddly unnerving smile. Wheeljack looked at her, stunned for a moment as the meaning of her words sunk in. _Carrying_. There was another life developing inside her. And it was definitely his. Wheeljack had never considered having any offspring. They would be too much of a handful, even if the war was over and had been for nearly a decade. He felt his spark lurch when he realised that it was his 'sparkling' forming inside Skystreaker.

"I think Star Saber believes you to be the one mentioned in the Book of Nova Prime," Skystreaker added. "The warrior of uneven spirit..."

"Bullshit." Wheeljack swallowed. He suddenly felt anxious, not a feeling he was accustomed to. if Skystreaker had not been some kind of brainwashed loony, he might have felt glad to be having a kid with her. As for the current state of affairs, he very much wanted to hit her. She had almost killed him, even left him disfigured. The anger he had felt earlier had begun to build in him again. He clenched both hands into fists, his gaze going towards the ceiling and away from Skystreaker as he tried to make sense of what was going on.

"You'll believe soon enough, Wheeljack," Skystreaker said. "They all will. You and every other Cybertronian. When Nova Prime returns, those who refuse to follow him, to believe in him, will be eradicated. An atheist holocaust. As for our child, he will be Nova Prime's vessel. He will _become_ Nova Prime."  
Wheeljack realised she was wearing the Seal on her back. He looked over, noticing the slight white glow that was emanating from the intricate designs etched into the metal upon it. He might not have believed all of what he had been told, were it not for the fact the Seal was definitely reacting to her in some way.

"You're telling me our kid's going to grow up to be a warmonger with a god complex?" Wheeljack might have scoffed, if not for the circumstances. _So, not only do I fall in with the wrong kind of woman, but it turns out our kid's going to go right off the rails._ He needed to get out of here, regardless of our sore he was and how messed up he looked. Skystreaker had little reason to lie to him about all of this. She had to be stopped. Star Saber had to be stopped. Right now, it looked like he was the only one in any position to do something about it. Unfortunately, that position had him firmly bound in a cell somewhere on a Decepticon cruiser, maimed and wracked with pain.

"The child will need a father," Skystreaker said. Her voice sounded tender, the look in her red optics a sincere one.

Wheeljack found himself seriously considering the offer, if only momentarily. He remembered what Knock Out had asked him, not too long ago back on Cybertron, before they had left for Earth and this whole mess had started. He had asked him about "settling down", whether he would even consider doing something like that, as he had not seemed the "type". Wheeljack was a soldier through-and-through, even if he tried to hark back to his earlier life as an engineer, he was still a soldier. He had been one for so long that living in peace-time, he realised, had left him directionless. It sounded like Nova Prime might give him that direction back. And still, he wanted no part of it. The child would not be "his", it would be the Seal's, a means of making sure whatever Cybertronian the unborn life became would be Nova Prime. Wheeljack wanted no part of whatever twisted cult Skystreaker and Star Saber were part of. And he sure as hell wanted no hand in getting Nova Prime "reborn".

"I'm the father of what that kid was going to be," Wheeljack said, "Not what the Seal's gonna make him."

Skystreaker narrowed her optics, frowning at him.

"You can take you, Star Saber and your kid and his fucked-up future and stick it straight up your collective aft," Wheeljack spat. The anger boiled over and he found himself thrashing against his bindings. Skystreaker took a step back, startled by his response. She quickly turned around and strode out of the room, saying nothing. He realised, with mixed feelings, that he may have just broken her spark.

Once again, Wheeljack was alone. He would probably die alone too, a possibility he had considered to be the most likely outcome for him.

* * *

Bumblebee had come to not too long ago. He hurt in places, his legs felt weak and his stump of a right arm throbbed dully. Nonetheless, he got up on his feet and started to head towards the city, passing by the aftermath of the battle that had occurred on the outskirts. Ultra Magnus and Wildstrike were no longer around, from the look of things. Civilians wandered the streets now and emergency vehicles packed the roads. Fire-fighters worked on the numerous blazes that had erupted as a result of the fighting while paramedics shifted injured civilians into the backs of ambulances. People cleared the way for Bumblebee as he walked down the suburban street, his one hand clutching at the wounds in his side. Some had their phones out, a few even recording him as he went by. He no longer cared. He might have transformed, if he had not been so sore. The human civilians formed an odd sort of "procession" line for him, people crowded on the sidewalks as he strode down the road. What did they think of him? Did they consider him a threat or not? Did they see him as one of the "bad guys"? The fact that none of these people ran away from him seemed to indicate otherwise.

A familiar car came speeding from around a corner up ahead. It shifted quickly, with Doubletake emerging from his vehicle mode smoothly. He jogged up to Bumblebee, regarding the beaten and dented Autobot with a concerned look.

"Ultra Magnus sent me out to look for you," Doubletake said. He took a look around at the nearby civilians. "Looks like you've brought quite the crowd."

"Where's Jack? And Raf?" Bumblebee thought of his two human friends, realising that they would have been at far more risk than he was, especially with both the Decepticons and the Taskforce to contend with.

"Ultra Magnus is taking care of them," Doubletake replied. He stepped forwards, putting an arm over Bumblebee's shoulders, allowing the yellow Autobot to lean his weight against him. He certainly needed the support. The pair started down the road, heading in the general direction of the downtown area.

"We lost Wildstrike," Doubletake said, his voice grim. "But we got Cyclonus. We won't need to worry about him anymore."

Bumblebee would have liked to feel relieved, but he did not. How could he, given the cost of everything that had so far happened? Fowler and Knock Out, even Miko if the Taskforce had not simply killed her. And it still was not over. How many more would they lose before things were finally done? Before this whole mess was cleaned up? Bumblebee had faced death many times before, but seeing Knock Out die right in front of him, struck with a weapon that had been intended for him, had set considerable doubt upon his mind. He doubted himself, for the first time in a long while.

"Everything all right?" Doubletake asked. Bumblebee shook his head. He did not know Doubletake well, aside from some passing acquaintance they had formed some time ago on Cybertron. He did not know what to make of the Autobot enforcer, although his usually serious attitude seemed fitting for a police officer.

"Yeah, not the best question to ask," Doubletake added.

"How's Wheeljack? Is he all right?"

Doubletake's face adopted an uncertain look.

"I don't know. He was hurt pretty bad when I saw him. And then Skystreaker dragged him onto a Decepticon transport."  
Bumblebee turned to him, optics wide.

"I knew she was trouble," Doubletake continued. "Never should have trusted her."

"We have to find him. Him, and Jack and Raf. I don't want to lose anyone else today." Bumblebee felt steeled with his newfound resolve. Even with the doubt that weighed upon him, he would do his utmost to ensure that his friends survived.


	40. Hard Target

**Hard Target**

"Captain, lead the men on ahead." Colonel Carver stood in the main hall on the casino's ground floor, much of which had been trashed in the shootout minutes earlier. Several armed Taskforce operatives, wearing black combat gear and armed with either submachine guns or shotguns, went filing past him. Captain Van Cleef stood a short distance ahead, a pump-action shotgun in his arms.

"I will take a staff elevator. You and the team push Darby and Esquivel towards the penthouse further up the building. I'll get off the elevator on the other side. By then, air support should be here and we can make short work of the pair in a coordinated effort." Carver pulled out his Wildey pistol from the holster at his waist, just under his coat. He checked the magazine, ensuring the weapon was ready to fire.

Van Cleef nodded in acknowledge of the orders.

"What about the Autobots, Colonel?" He asked. "If any of them show up..."

"Air support will be bringing some heavy weaponry with them," Carver interrupted. "They'll take care of any Cybertronians, Autobot or otherwise, who come too close to the building. However, it will likely be ten minutes before the first chopper arrives. Ten minutes can be a long time in this sort of work."

"Should we keep this quiet?"

Carver considered the question. The suppressors on the weapons seemed like they may be useful, as to avoid drawing attention from the local authorities. However, now with the building locked down they were likely unneeded.

"The area's cordoned off. No one will get in or out without us knowing. That includes cops and curious civilians. We should be able to be as loud as we want to be." The battle outside was practically over. The Las Vegas Strip was a wreck, as was one of the more lavish casinos further down the road. Cyclonus' personal ship had left a lot of damage in its wake and the explosion its engine core had caused had been heard for many miles around. Plenty of civilians had been caught in the crossfire, an unfortunate inevitability. Even so, once this was all over, Carver had plenty of evidence here to show the world what kind of threat the Cybertronians were towards humanity.

"Keep me advised of the locations of the targets," Carver said to Van Cleef. "I wouldn't mind talking to Darby, before the troops neutralise him. Our air support will have thermal imaging, so once they're here it'll be easy enough to find them."

Van Cleef nodded slowly. He then adjusted his red beret with one hand and turned around, following a trio of operatives to the far end of the hall where the door into a stairwell was located.

Carver went for the kitchen in the restaurant in the corner. He stepped over a dead Taskforce operative, passing by another who lay sprawled in one corner of the kitchen with a chef's knife in his gut and large pool of blood around him.

_You've become quite the killer, Darby,_ Carver mused. He supposed, if you pushed someone hard enough they would have little problem with killing in self-defence. Still, Jack Darby had done more than enough damage to the Taskforce. The battle at the compound, the attack on the Vault; he had proven himself to be more than capable of being a threat to the organization. Carver had seen the potential in him. The six months Jack had spent working with the Taskforce had shown him as much. Jack could have been capable of great things, but his loyalty to the Autobots was far stronger than any loyalty he might have felt to his fellow human being. _A misplaced loyalty. They're aliens, Darby. They brought their war here. They drew far more attention to Earth than it would have received otherwise. And they're no longer around to protect us. They have their own problems. Autobots, Decepticons, they're all the same. No good aliens, no bad aliens. It's just us and them._

Carver entered a staff corridor and made his way down it, heading by a flight of stairs and towards one of two staff elevators at the far end. He was confident that both Darby and Esquivel were trapped, with nowhere to go but up. And that would, of course, lead them into the sights of the air support that was on its way. It was a simple search and destroy operation, one with somewhat higher stakes since both targets had with them sensitive information that could easily ruin the many months of planning Carver had gone through. If humanity was going to survive this new age, it would need a strong leader. He did not need Darby ruining everything through his misplaced loyalty to a bunch of alien rebels.

* * *

Up in one of the hotel floors of the casino building, Jack found himself faced with mostly red and purple corridor with lavish carpet and Asian-themed decor along the walls. On each side were doors of identical appearance, save for the number emblazoned on them in gold numerals. They were fairly large hotel suites, certainly made for the high rollers who came to the casino to spend big and win big. Some of the doors were open, as if people had left them in a hurry. Jack made his way down the corridor, heading through one of the open doors while Rafael followed. He closed it behind them.

The living room they had entered was large, with a plasma television set into one wall and a few red and purple sofas and couches scattered about. The living room went on to a rumpus room that had a set of large windows for one wall, windows that provided a wide vista of the city down below. To the left of the living room was a wide open doorway into a bedroom where a large queen-sized bed was situated. A bathroom was off to its right. The smell about the hotel suite was one of burning incense and floral soap.

"Where are we going to go?" Rafael asked. His voice sounded desperate. Even Jack could feel the desperation, now that they had gone up several floors. Where would they go indeed? Jack walked over to the window, looking down about fifteen floors to the street below. The same street where General Williamson and his soldiers now lay dead. A parachute would have been handy, unfortunately that was one thing he had not thought to bring with him.

Jack made his way over to the bench at the kitchenette attached to the living room. He set his submachine gun upon it, along with the few spare magazines he had. Emptying his pockets, he pulled out a few tissues, some cash that amounted to about thirty dollars and a paperclip. Nothing that would help him much here.

"I don't know," Jack replied. He turned to face Rafael. The look on the younger man's face was a mix of anger and fear.

"You don't know?" Rafael asked. "You lead us up here, and now you _don't know_." He spat the last two words with disgust.

"We have to make a stand," Jack said. He mustered up his remaining courage, ensuring that it came through his voice. "Carver wants what we have. The flash drive with all those incriminating documents? You saw what was on them, didn't you? He wants to eradicate the government. Put himself in charge, like you told me. A military dictator. He'll turn against the very politicians who've been funding him. We're the only ones who know this and have the evidence to back it up. We're the two most dangerous people alive in his eyes. He'll call in everything to stop us."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

"No. But I sure hope it makes you realise the stakes."

"I know what the stakes are, Jack. I knew them from the beginning." Rafael had calmed down slightly, but his voice was still laced with frustration. "The stakes were pretty clear when they killed Fowler. I just want to know, what exactly are we going to do? I'm no soldier, Jack. Neither are you. Every time we've been in a pinch, the Autobots were there to help."

"And maybe they'll be there again," Jack said. Surely at least one of the Autobots would locate them? They certainly needed their help.

"How long will we have to wait for Ultra Magnus or any of the others to show? They're probably fighting Decepticons right now. They can't jump to our rescue. Your optimism is nice, but you don't need to coddle me like I'm a kid. We're both adults, Jack. We know the reality of our situation."

"You have any ideas?" Jack could understand Rafael's frustration. He felt similar, although he did a better job of containing it, a means of keeping his head mostly clear. He did not need his emotions getting the better of him, not now. "Any way of getting out of here that doesn't involve taking the fast way down?" He gestured with one hand towards the window and the lethal drop beyond it.

Outside in the corridor, there was a loud _crash_. A door had been kicked down. Footsteps could be heard as more Taskforce operatives filed down the corridor. Jack looked towards the door before he quickly grabbed his submachine gun and its spare magazines. Rafael moved aside, crouching behind the kitchen counter. He had no gun on him, so the most he could do was take cover.

The Taskforce were searching rooms, quickly. One after another, doors were kicked open while those rooms already with their doors unlocked were rapidly searched.

Then a familiar sound hit his ears, a rapid _chop-chop_ that increased in volume and caused the windows to vibrate. The Taskforce had a helicopter and it was hovering close to the building, moving into view at the windows. They likely had some kind of thermal imaging device on the helicopter, made all the more likely by the way in which the chopper stopped by the windows, hovering in place.

"I think we've been made," Jack said. At that moment, the door to the hotel room flung open suddenly. Jack swivelled around, gritting his teeth as he hip-fired the submachine gun. _"Fuck you!"_

The weapon fired, the suppressor reducing its shots to a muffled cough. Bullets pounded into the Taskforce operative standing in the doorway, riddling him with holes as he fell backwards, seemingly in slow-motion as adrenaline surged through Jack.

"We've located the targets!" Another operative, out in the corridor, shouted into his ear-piece. "Nineteenth floor hotel suites..."

Jack turned around and brought the submachine gun up to his shoulder. His set the helicopter in his sights and started shooting. The windows became pock-marked with holes, several of them before an entire pair of panes shattered loudly, showering glass all over the rumpus room floor and the street outside. The helicopter, small and painted a matte black, was pounded with 10mm rounds. Sparks flew and the operative seated at the open side door was struck, blood spraying out and splattering against the helicopter's paintwork. The pilot pulled the craft away from the building and the dead operative fell off of his perch, plunging to the street below.

Jack ejected the now empty submachine gun magazine and jammed a new one in its place. Turning back around, he grabbed Rafael's arm with his free-hand and started for the open doorway.

"Come on," Jack said, letting him go. He leaned around the doorway, spraying submachine gun bullets down the corridor. One of the operatives fell while the other few with him rushed into cover in the neighbouring rooms. Jack bent down and picked up a shotgun dropped by the operative now lying riddled with bloody holes just ahead of the doorway.

He strode down the corridor with Rafael a few paces in front. At the far end of the hall was an elevator, a loud _ding_ sounding out as the doors slid open. He raised his submachine gun in his right hand and only had to wait a few seconds for the doors to fully open. Two operatives stood inside. One opened fire immediately, sending bullets into the wall on Jack's right. Rafael dived to the floor, yelling in surprise. Jack ducked, plaster dust and fragments exploding from the wall as he pulled the trigger on his submachine gun. Both operatives twitched and convulsed as they went down, one falling backwards while his finger twitched on his weapons trigger. The weapon fired as he fell, sending numerous rounds into the ceiling, sparks flying.

Jack turned around as one of the operatives stepped out of the doorway of a room further back down the hall. With his submachine gun empty, Jack instead raised the pump-action shotgun he had clasped in his left hand and fired. The weapon thundered loudly within the confines of the hotel corridor, buckshot striking the operative in the upper chest, knocking him backwards as blood splattered onto the wall behind him.

Jack turned around and watched as Rafael rose back onto his feet, somewhat groggily. He started down the hall, going around a corner that took them down an almost identical one. Further behind them were the sounds of running footsteps and radio chatter as the remaining operatives on this floor closed in on them. The public stairwell was at the end of the corridor and Jack rushed for it, with Rafael following a few paces behind. The younger man looked hurt, clutching at one side as he moved, his expression a strained one.

"Raf, are you all right?" Jack stopped by the stairwell door. Rafael leaned against the doorframe, the right side of his sweater red with blood. Jack felt his heart skip a beat when he laid eyes on the blood. Rafael had taken a bullet. Beads of sweat had collected on his brow and his breathing was shallow. He did not look good, although Jack would be damned if he was going to leave him.

"I can still walk, if that's what you're wondering," Rafael croaked.

Jack went to reply, but footsteps echoed up from the stairwell beyond the door. Someone was coming up. He pushed open the door and looked down, catching sight of a Taskforce operative who was rushing up the stairs. He placed his shotgun upon the rail, using it to work the pump before he took aim with the weapon, one-handed, at the operative. He fired, the shot catching the operative in the head, blowing open his skull and splattering brain matter across the wall behind him. There was someone else not too far behind him, a familiar figure Jack saw, one who wore a red beret. He clasped a shotgun, one with a large, rounded suppressor screwed over the end of the barrel. _Van Cleef._

Captain Van Cleef stopped a floor below and looked up, taking aim. Jack went to work the pump on the shotgun but Van Cleef was faster, sending a load of buckshot up his way. Jack stumbled backwards as pellets pounded into the railing in front of him. Ducking down, he dropped the shotgun and quickly reloaded his submachine gun. Rafael was behind him and he used one hand to grab the younger man by the arm, taking him along as he raced up the flight of stairs. They stuck close to the wall and away from the edge, all the while Van Cleef continued to shoot up at them. Rounds clipped along the metal railings and collided with the cement walls. He started purposefully up the stairs, taking shots at the pair where he could.

The next floor up lead into a penthouse area, large and lavish, usually locked off to the public. Presumably the casino owner lived up here, although he was understandably absent given the chaos that had occurred in the city. The door onto the penthouse floor was unlocked, allowing both Jack and Rafael straight inside. They rushed down a short corridor and towards a set of glass double doors, an Asian dragon-themed design etched upon the glass. This door was locked, although the glass gave way to a few shots from Jack's submachine gun. One of the doors shattered and the pair stepped through, into an open lobby of sorts that lead to a vast living room. Beyond that, a large window looked out across the city. The second floor of the penthouse overlooked this living room. Jack realised right away that they were very exposed out here, especially with the window and the outdoor courtyard to the right of the living room. Nonetheless, he ran into the room, trying to find some kind of defensible point. They were not on the roof, that was a few more floors up. As for the courtyard, that was fairly large, complete with swimming pool and outdoor furniture.

Rafael slumped against a display case by one wall, marking the glass with his blood. Within the case was a set of samurai armour, genuine or not Jack could not tell.

"Don't give up on me yet," Jack said. He grabbed Rafael by one arm once again, forcing him to his feet. The kitchen was nearby, a somewhat more solid position with more cover. Jack brought Rafael over, allowing him to sit on the floor, his back against the kitchen counter. Looking back at the door, he watched it for a moment, ensuring that no one was right behind them. There would be Taskforce goons in here soon enough. Whatever reprieve they had would only be seconds in length.

"Can you make it?" Jack asked. He looked down at Rafael. The side of his sweater and much of its front was thick with blood. His skin was pale and he was sweating profusely. Jack crouched by him, trying to gauge his overall condition. Rafael was in no state to be pushed into physical exertion. He needed a doctor, one he would likely not get.

"I can make it," Rafael replied. He was defiant, no less determined to overcome his injuries in order to press on. "I just want to know..." He paused, a smirk appearing on his face despite his condition. "What exactly are we going to 'make' it to?"

Jack shook his head. How was he supposed to know? They were stuck in the building with hostiles coming upstairs after them. They would likely start landing people on the roof as well. Jack realised then that they might have had a chance.

"The roof. If they start landing people up there, we can hijack a chopper." It was a long-shot, made even longer by the fact that neither of them knew how to fly a helicopter. Still, it was better than nothing. It certainly beat staying here and dying.

Rafael went to stand up, but he grunted in pain and fell back down again. Jack could see that he was in no state to move from where he was. Sooner or later the blood loss would get him. God only knew what internal damage the bullet had caused.

"Hate to break it to you, Jack," Rafael said. "But I don't think I can make it that far."

"I'll drag you if I have to." Jack was completely sincere as he said this. He would not leave Rafael, he _could _not leave him, not to the mercy of Van Cleef and the rest of the Taskforce.

"I'll just slow you down," Rafael replied. With one hand he reached into a pocket in his trousers. From there, he pulled the flash drive, the one containing all the information they had stolen concerning the Taskforce and Colonel Carver. The very thing that had made the Colonel so determined to eliminate them. Rafael held out the object and Jack, with some reluctance, took it from him. He stuffed it into a pocket of his own.

"I'll draw them away," Jack said. Something told him he might not see Rafael again after this. He would do his best to avoid that potential outcome. They might not kill Rafael if they learned that he no longer had the flash drive on him.

Jack rose to his feet. He could hear the helicopter again, unless it was a new one this time. It hovered into view from the window. Jack stepped out of the kitchen and brought up his submachine gun, opening fire, shattering several panes of glass. Bullets pinged off of the helicopter, some left holes in the windshield. However, the operative seated on the side returned fire this time around, his assault rifle cracking rapidly. Jack dived behind a couch as rounds shot by him, blowing chunks out of the wooden floorboards and ripping foam out of the furniture. The display cases at the nearby wall shattered, showering glass all around Jack as he remained prone. There was a pause then as the gunner reloaded, allowing Jack to rise to his feet. He started to run, heading across the penthouse floor. Behind him, at the entrance to the penthouse, a group of operatives stormed in, Van Cleef among them.

Jack turned and sprayed his submachine gun in their general direction across the living room floor, getting their attention. The group scattered and Jack continued to run, hoping to God or whatever higher power might have been watching the whole thing that they would not find Rafael. And he hoped that if they did, they would not kill him. That last hope was an especially unlikely one, he knew this much, as Van Cleef had so mercilessly killed Fowler that it was likely he would have no qualms about murdering Rafael, if only because the young man had been an inconvenience. And to think, Jack might have once considered the man a "friend" in the loosest sense of the term after the six months he had spent working with the Taskforce.

He realised that heading to the roof would be a very poor idea, as the helicopter outside would easily gun him down. However, he had little choice, as the way back down was blocked by several heavily armed black ops thugs. Van Cleef had started to confidently stride after him, crossing the living room as Jack rushed into an adjoining corridor. Part of the wall exploded near him as a shot from Van Cleef's shotgun hit it, showering Jack with plaster dust.

"Come and get me!" He shouted at them. He rushed by a few bedrooms and then a bathroom before coming to another locked door. He sent a few shots into the lock, knocking it open before rushing into the corridor beyond. The walls here lost the purple-red Asian-theme, becoming fairly bare as he pressed on. He had apparently left the penthouse, going onwards in what seemed to be a mostly unfinished section of the casino. This much he could tell, judging from the bare walls with their wooden boards and frames bared, as well as the buckets of paint that he went by, clustered up near an empty doorway.

He found another flight of stairs, this one taking him over the penthouse and to a bare, unfinished floor of the building. Up here, even sections of the outer walls were missing, exposing the entire floor to the elements. Only a few makeshift rope and metal barriers were in place to prevent any unfortunate workplace accidents.

He stopped by a mostly wooden partition to catch his breath. Leaving Rafael behind had been a mistake, yet he knew that hoisting the younger man around would have slowed him down. With him carrying the flash drive there was a chance he might make it out and bring down the Taskforce.

Jack ran a hand through his hair. Frustration and anger boiled within him. He could not let Carver win. Not after everything he had gone through. Not after what had happened to Fowler. And Miko, what had become of her? What had they done to her? And now Rafael, who could be dead by now for all he knew. Everything had fallen apart so quickly. His whole life had been ruined at the drop of a hat. He might have been outnumbered and outgunned, but he would make absolutely certain he did as much damage as he could before the Taskforce brought him down. And he would do whatever he could to make sure they did not.

He heard the helicopter approaching then. It seemed to move past this level of the hotel, heading up. For the roof. Jack leaned back against the wall behind him and peered around it, looking back the way he had come. Van Cleef and his men would be through that doorway soon enough. All Jack had were two submachine gun magazines, one of which was already loaded into the weapon. He might have to conserve his bullets, depending on how many people came bursting out onto the unfinished floor of the casino.

* * *

"I want the Anti-Material guns deployed immediately." Colonel Carver stopped in the penthouse suite, speaking into his ear-piece while several Taskforce operatives filed past him. His gaze was set on the wounded young man sitting against a bench in the kitchen. "I know for a fact that at least one of the Autobots is on their way here."

Carver leaned forwards slightly, looking down at Rafael. The young man was bleeding profusely from a bullet that had hit him in the side of the stomach. There was no doubt a great deal of internal damage, but a few weeks in the hospital would ensure his survival.

"Where are the files?" Carver asked, his voice level.

Rafael shook his head slowly.

"Where do you think?" He countered. His voice sounded feeble, not surprising given his current condition.

"Your friend Jack has killed a lot of my people." Carver stated this matter-of-factly. He had plenty of "people" he could call on for an operation like this. He had not, however, expected so many of them to be dispatched by Jack Darby. "It doesn't matter what I tell my troops. They'll kill him, just for what he's done. As for you, I'm willing to grant you some leeway. I'm not a barbarian, Rafael." He used the man's first name intentionally, a means to at least try to appeal to him on some friendly-footing. "We don't just kill everybody who crosses us. You, for instance, could help us a great deal. Your computer expertise would be invaluable."

Rafael let out a raspy noise. It sounded like a chuckle, albeit a brief one.

"I'm not going to work for you," he said. _Defiant to the end._ Carver doubted he would die from his wounds, not for a while anyway. He might pass out, something that was very likely going to happen any moment now.

"Your loyalty to your friends, human and Autobot, is misplaced," Carver said. "Jack has abandoned you. As have the Autobots." This last one was a lie. Nonetheless, he thought he saw some slight change in Rafael's defiant gaze. "I do what I do the ensure humanity's survival. It's independence on the galactic stage. For a better tomorrow, so-to-speak."

Rafael passed out then, his head slumping down, his eyes closed. Carver considered leaving him here, but after a moment he motioned to one of the nearby operatives. He ordered them to carry him away, while he returned his attention to his ear-piece. A familiar voice filtered through it.

_"Colonel, it's Van Cleef. We've got Darby cornered on the upper floor."_

"Acknowledged." Carver wanted this situation dealt with quickly. The information Jack carried with him could ruin everything. As it stood, Carver's carefully balanced and controlled emotions had started to waver. This whole ordeal had gone on long enough. There had to be order to things and with that information in Jack's hands that order would be hard to come by. The attack on the Vault had been the tipping point, as before then everything had seemed assured. Even though now it appeared that everything would be under control soon enough, it was the uncertainty that bothered Carver. Jack had escaped in the past and gone on to cause further trouble. The same could happen again. _That cannot be allowed to happen.  
_

* * *

Jack had his back against a wooden wall, the metal and wooden beams visible from the lack of actual plaster and wallpaper. He leaned around towards the door, watching as a pair of Taskforce operatives rushed in, spreading out. Jack did not hesitate to start shooting, gunning one of the men down. The other dived behind a stack of metal beams, bullets pinging off of them. Splinters of wood flew from the shots that hit the unfinished walls.

Another operative stormed in, firing a shotgun in Jack's direction. He ducked back into cover as part of the wall near him exploded, showering him with wooden fragments. Another spray of buckshot hit the floor, kicking up cement. Jack stumbled behind the wall before he regained his balance by leaning upon it. Moving quickly, he turned around and followed it to where it ended, several metres away. Leaning around this wall, he looked through a doorway into an unfinished room where a few stacks of metal beams and some building equipment had been dumped. One of the operatives moved into cover behind one of the stacks. Jack fired, clipping him in a shoulder. The operative fell backwards and yelled loudly, clutching at a submachine gun in one hand. He leaned around the stack of metal and returned fire, planting several rounds in the doorway. Jack leaned backwards and put his gun around the side, shooting blindly, emptying what was left in the magazine. The operative caught a bullet in the neck, blood spurting out rapidly as he fell onto his back, gargling.

Footsteps from his left brought Jack's attention to the other side of the wall. Another operative was moving towards him, attempting to flank him. His heart pounding, Jack began to reload, his hands shaking as he dropped the empty magazine from his gun and slammed home a new one, his last one at that. The operative sighted him as he leaned around the corner, raising a shotgun in his direction. Jack was quicker, firing a volley that planted about three bloody holes through his chest. The operative fell backwards, landing spread-eagled on the floor.

Jack rushed over to his body and tore the pistol from the waist holster that the operative was wearing. It was a standard Beretta pistol, chambered for 9mm ammunition. Keeping it gripped in his left hand, Jack took the spare magazines the operative had on him before rising back onto his feet.

_Where do I go now?_ His thoughts went by rapidly as the situation changed around him. A grenade, canister-shaped and red in colour, complete with thin yellow line near its top, came sailing from around the corner and landed several metres away. Jack turned around and ran, diving through another doorway as the incendiary grenade detonated with a loud _bang!_ Flames erupted forth and Jack felt a wave of heat wash over him along with the sheer concussive force of the detonation. Burning clumps of wood came down around him, the air becoming thick with the stench of scorched metal. Jack kept his head down a moment as the rain subsided, a clump of red-hot metal landing near his side where it embedded itself in the concrete floor.

Looking back, he saw that part of the room behind him had been set alight. Rolling flames had spread across a section of floor several metres wide. Parts of the wooden wall had been scorched and small spot-fires raged across it frame, each one growing in size rapidly as they burned the wood away.

"Move in, move in!" A man's voice, one of the operatives, called out from somewhere behind him. Jack rose to his feet, stepping over a small patch of flame on the floor before rushing into the unfinished corridor ahead. Panelling was on some sections of the walls, others were bare with only their frames in place. Given the layout of the building, there was likely a stairwell somewhere up ahead. Getting onto the roof might have been his only chance of survival, even if he might be more exposed up there. Right now, he felt exposed just about everywhere else as well. He had operatives coming from behind and likely more on their way down from the rooftop. They would surround him, box him in, corner him like a cat would a rat.

It was not as if he had much choice in the matter. He kept moving, running by several empty rooms with only stacks of wooden beams and metal pylons as cover. Someone from further down the corridor opened fire with a submachine gun. Jack rushed behind a corner as rounds pounded into the wooden boards nearby. He ducked behind a stack of metal beams, keeping his head down, waiting for the shooter to enter his line of fire. The shooter did move into view, heading for the concealment behind a few metal boards up against one of the incomplete walls. Jack let fly with several submachine gun rounds, tearing the boards to pieces, splinters flying everywhere while the operative behind them fell over and did not get back up. Running footsteps from behind Jack notified him of the presence of more operatives, these ones likely coming from the roof. He turned around, watching as one stepped into view from behind a thick pillar further up ahead. A few bullets hit him in the chest, taking him down, splattering blood onto the pale white paint upon the pillar. The others scattered.

Jack stood up and rushed for the nearest door, kicking it open. Behind it was a large bathroom, the tile-work lacking in some places and the far wall unfinished. Through the gaps, he sighted another operative as he ducked into cover behind it. Jack hosed down the wall with submachine gun rounds, knocking the operative down, parts of the wooden frame of the wall shattering above him. There must have been at least six bloody holes blown into the operative, blood pooling around him where he lay slumped against the half-wall. Jack hit the floor as the other operatives in the room beyond started shooting in his direction. The porcelain sink above him blew apart, as did the faucet, sending forth a geyser of water that splashed all over the wall. Much of it landed upon him, the water stone-cold as he remained prone, his ears covered as the cacophony of multiple weapons fire filled the room. He had dropped his empty submachine gun, with the Beretta pistol on the floor near his hand.

The shooting stopped about twenty seconds later, the incomplete bathroom now in need of a complete renovation. The shower cubicle had shattered, the basin was in pieces and chunks had been blown out of the surroundings walls. Shards of tile and glass littered the floor around Jack, as well as on top of him. And then, as he began to rise up off of the floor, something round came flying into the room. A fragmentation grenade, armed and ready to go off.

Jack stood up and dived over the half-wall, landing in the bare and mostly beige-coloured room beyond. The grenade exploded, the noise deafening in its proximity. The half-wall blew apart, along with what remained of the wooden frame above it. Jack landed somewhat painfully on the concrete floor a few metres over the other side, yet more pieces of tile, wood and glass landing all over him. He was dirty, wet and covered in sweat; dust and bits of debris had become caught in his hair. His ears ringing, Jack rolled onto one side, facing the operative further down who had appeared from around a corner. Jack raised his pistol and fired, once, twice, and then again, planting three rounds into the man's chest. He twitched from each impact as he fell.

On his feet again, Jack, his heart pounding, started past the wall to his left, entering a somewhat larger room. Outside, he could hear a helicopter, its blades slicing the air. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere above him.

"Darby!" A familiar voice called from across the hall. Jack turned to its source, watching as Captain Van Cleef stepped into view from around a corner. He held his suppressed shotgun, raising it to his shoulder as he took aim. Jack side-stepped quickly, planting himself against the nearby wall as the shotgun coughed and part of the wall further down exploded. A wide glass window was further up, on Jack's left. It looked into a larger, empty room that in turn overlooked the city. Some kind of lounge area, Jack assumed, although it was hard to tell since nothing on this floor was fully constructed or furnished, for that matter.

Jack raised his pistol and returned fire. A round clipped the wall near Van Cleef's face, causing him to step back into cover. Nonetheless, the Captain kept shooting in Jack's general direction, his hands working the pump on his shotgun quickly. Jack started running forwards, doing much the same thing, sending bullet after bullet in Van Cleef's direction, all the while buckshot went by him, blasting chunks out of the wall.

And then an operative appeared behind the window ahead, grenade in hand. Van Cleef put another shot in Jack's direction, blasting out part of the glass before he finally jumped for cover, his weapon empty. The operative with the grenade pulled it but Jack swivelled around, emptying the last two shots from his pistol through the glass. The operative twitched and the grenade fell from his fingers as he fell backwards, blood seeping out of the holes shot through his vest. Jack, realising that the grenade was armed, began to run after Van Cleef. The explosive went off and the whole window shattered as smoke and flame erupted forth, the dying operative not even receiving a chance to hit the floor before the explosion airlifted him. It sent him flying forwards, through the window and out into the hall where he hit the floor and slid a short distance from the momentum.

Jack entered an area up against the side of the building, with the city laid out before him. To one side was a wooden partition and beyond it, a room where some construction equipment had been left, among them a step-ladder and a hacksaw. Van Cleef appeared from behind a wall further ahead. He no longer carried his shotgun, instead he had pulled his Colt M1911A1 pistol, black-metal with a wood-glazed grip. He started shooting, the shots loud in the confines of the room, each sounding much like a hole-puncher going through thick cardboard, albeit far louder. Jack dived behind the partition as two of the shots went by him. Van Cleef started shooting into the wooden wall, the rounds going straight through. Jack hit the floor yet again as another four bullets blasted through the wood above him. The fifth caught him in the lower back half of his left leg, causing him to grit his teeth as the stinging pain shot through him. Rising to his feet, he leaned back against the wall, his leg burning with pain. However, from what he could see, it was a flesh wound, nothing more. A graze even, albeit a deep one that sent blood trickling down the leg of his trousers.

"Darby, Darby, Darby." Van Cleef's voice filtered from behind the wooden partition. Judging from the metal sliding noise, the Captain was reloading his weapon. An M1911 could only contain seven to eight rounds usually, given the .45 ACP cartridge is most often used. Jack seized the opportunity to reload his Beretta. His skin was drenched with sweat, his heart beating heavily. The adrenaline rush was beginning to wane now, he could feel his weary muscles starting to ache.

"Just who do you think you are, anyway?" Van Cleef's tone was a condescending one. "You and your alien friends have caused nothing but trouble." There was a subdued thump as he leaned back against the other side of the wall, practically back-to-back with Jack. "We'll be better off without them, and _you_." There was a pause. Jack remained in place, considering his options. In front of him was a twenty-two floor drop. Behind him was a ruthless black ops gun-for-hire. For a moment, he regarded the view ahead, the brilliant blue sky and the fluffy white clouds scattered across it. A dove flew by, landing on the edge of the floor, taking a moment to preen its wings.

"What are we going to do with you?" Van Cleef continued. "All the damage you've caused, all the killing. I didn't think you had it in you."

"You don't know a whole lot about me," Jack replied.

"Not that it'll matter for much longer," Van Cleef said. Jack felt him step away from the wall. The young man did the same and turned around, backing away at a slight angle. Van Cleef had no doubt done the same, both men pointing their guns at the wall and at where they assumed the other to be.

Jack started shooting almost the same time as Van Cleef. Parts of the wall in front of him exploded. He felt one of Van Cleef's shots travel by him far closer than he would have liked. The dove nearby took off in fright, fluttering past Jack as he continued shooting, losing count of the bullets he fired through the wall as he backed up, gradually angling his way around the wall. Van Cleef had shot several rounds through the wall before Jack came around the corner, neither man hitting the other. As soon as Van Cleef saw Jack, he dived to one side, smashing through the shot-up wall and landing in a heap on the other side.

Jack watched as he rose to his feet rapidly. He turned around and held up his pistol, pulling the trigger. No shot fired, instead the weapon's hammer clicked onto an empty chamber. Jack fired a shot from his Beretta pistol, planting a shot in Van Cleef's shoulder, causing him to stumble. He went to fire again, but his gun had become empty as well. Hurriedly, Jack turned around and tried to find something, anything he might have been able to use to finish Van Cleef off.

The Captain laughed. It was a cruel laugh, the smile that formed on his face equally malicious. Jack watched him with growing anger.

"You really are pathetic," Van Cleef spat. "You know your girlfriend? Miko?"

"What about her?" Jack gritted his teeth. He knew what was coming, he had suspected it for a while, but that would not make hearing the truth of the matter any easier.

"She's dead in a ditch somewhere," Van Cleef replied. He did not seem to care much for the bullet wound in his shoulder, nor for the fact that taunting the man who had almost killed you might not have been the wisest idea. "Bitch put up a fight, so I put her down." He chuckled again. Jack felt his anger boil over. "And don't think your friend Rafael's going to last much longer. You've got nothing left, Darby. _Nothing_."

Jack found himself backing away. He bumped against a wooden table, hearing something rattle upon it. Glancing behind him, his gaze fell upon a small can of paint. Taking it up in one hand, he turned to Van Cleef, who was still smiling at him, his malice tangible. From a sheathe at his waist, he pulled a combat knife, one with a serrated edge that gleamed in the sunlight. Van Cleef was not going to go down without a fight.

"So why don't you take out your anger on me, eh?" Van Cleef took a step towards him. "Man-to-man. Even with a bullet in my shoulder I bet I could take you down."

"Maybe." Jack took a deep breath. Van Cleef was goading him, trying to get him to rush in without thinking. He resisted that urge, despite the rage he felt. "You're assuming I want a fair fight, after what you just told me."

With a powerful throw, Jack sent the half-filled can of paint flying. It struck Van Cleef across the forehead, causing him to stumble, one hand going to his face. Within the seconds he remained stunned, Jack charged him, colliding with him before pushing him the few metres to the edge of the floor. And then Jack let him go, stopping himself against the nearby concrete pillar. Van Cleef, on the other hand, had gone over the edge and he started screaming once he realised he was in freefall. Jack watched him from the edge as he became smaller, feeling close to nothing. The catharsis was not as significant as he had been expecting.

* * *

Colonel Carver was on his way up a flight of stairs when he heard the screaming. Turning to its source, he watched through a window as Captain Van Cleef came shooting by, flailing his arms about as gravity dragged him down. Rushing to the window to get a closer look, Carver looked down and with a dispassionate gaze and a sense of grim fascination he saw Van Cleef hit the street below. The Captain went through a glass shelter over the side-street entrance to the casino. The glass itself shattered around him and the screaming abruptly stopped upon impact, shards slicing the Captain badly, falling down slick with blood. And then he hit the pavement underneath, blood spraying out around him.

Without so much as a second thought, Carver continued on his path upstairs.


	41. Before I Die Alone

**Before I Die Alone**

Wheeljack remained bound to the bench in the medical bay, having been by himself for a while now. His mind was still reeling from the revelations that Skystreaker had given him, concerning her true purpose and the fact that she was carrying. He was not sure whether to believe it or not, whether it was just an elaborate ruse, or that Skystreaker was simply a fanatic of Star Saber's religion. Presumably one so blinded by their faith that they would really buy into the whole "Nova Prime vessel" business she had described to him. However, if it was true, and it seemed likely, then Wheeljack and Skystreaker had essentially conceived a murderous, warmongering god together. He had to stop her and Star Saber, somehow. He was the only one in a position to do so. He was on the ship for starters. All he had to do was free himself somehow. This might have been easier for him, were it not for his injuries. His entire right side burned, particularly his face and neck. His good looks had been very much destroyed, the right side of his face melted and solidified into an uneven and very unpleasant-looking mess.

He had never been too vain, certainly not to the extreme extents Knock Out had been, but he had often taken pride in his appearance and the way he carried himself. Getting torn up like this could put a serious crimp into one's pride and, compounded with his current situation, his mental state was not in a good place. He wanted nothing more to get out there and tear the Decepticons to pieces, starting with Skystreaker. No matter how much he might have liked her, if there was one thing he hated with every fibre of his being, it was a traitor. Especially one that stabbed him in the back directly, as Skystreaker had done, albeit instead of stabbing she had shot him and left him mutilated. Even so, he could not be certain what he would do exactly when he found her, if he ever got out of here._ One thing at a time._

He tested the clamps with energy flowing over them that held his arms and legs in place. Another, wider one was over his waist. They burned him slightly as he brushed up against them. They had him firmly locked down, much to his frustration. What was to become of him, now that he had refused Skystreaker's offer to join her? They would probably execute him sooner or later. Maybe take him apart piece-by-piece for the entertainment factor. There were plenty of ways they could kill him, none of which appealed to him in any way. If he was going to die, and it began to look more that way the longer he stayed here, he would go out on his own terms. Hopefully with one hand around Star Saber's spark chamber, crushing the life out of it.

The energon clamps burned, but they were not pure energon. This he realised, as he put his right wrist against one, the pain shooting through him his mangled arm. Smoke wafted from the contact point and he gritted his metal teeth together, letting out a subdued groan as he put his full strength up against it. He had always been one to take the direct approach, and this situation was no different. He had no real tricks, just sheer brute strength as he pushed against the clamp with as much strength as he could muster. The housing rattled, he heard it then, all the while the beam surrounding the metal burned against his exposed frame. Letting out a scream, he pushed himself to the limit, his entire body moving with his right arm, putting further weight against the energy clamp before one connection finally gave way. The pain subsided as it fell away from his now half-raised arm, the release sending relief through his entire body. His right wrist now bearing a deep and significantly agonizing burn, he nonetheless reached over to the clamp at his other arm and had no difficulty yanking it away from above.

Both arms free, he then freed his legs before releasing the clamp over his waist. His body aching, his right arm in particular, he rolled off of the bench and onto the floor. He landed on the hard surface with a _clang_, a noise that he worried might attract whoever was standing guard in the corridor outside. His legs aching, his strength less than he was used to, Wheeljack put both hands to the bench and raised himself up against it, his gaze going about the room around him. He needed something, a weapon of some kind, anything that could give him an edge. Stuck this deep into enemy territory, while unarmed, was not ideal. He recalled the head of Star Saber's double-pronged spear, the one that he had stashed into a compartment at one thigh. It was still there, the Decepticons had overlooked it. Even so, such a small weapon would only be useful if he could get right up close.

_Out of the frying pan..._An old human saying crossed his mind then, his optics going to the partially open cabinet on the far wall. There was a large transparent container there, half-full with a glowing green liquid. He walked over to it, noting the Decepticon glyphs on the label.

_And into the fire._ He knew what this was: synthetic energon. He could not determine what variety it was, as Ratchet had made a few, each subsequent one more stable than the last. It was unlikely these Decepticons had the newer, safer stuff, and even that was still unsafe for use on actual Cybertronian physiology. Wheeljack needed a boost, anything to give him the edge he needed to survive. Bumblebee had told him of what they had done to him here, dosing him full of synthetic energon to serve as both an experiment and entertainment for the Decepticons here. Wheeljack only needed enough to get him going again, to bring his strength back up and perhaps to accelerate the healing of his injuries.

There was one problem, he realised: he was no doctor. He had no idea how much of the synthetic energon he could take. What level of dosage would he need? His size, his age, his injuries; all would have played a part in the dosage he would need. A doctor would have been able to work that out just fine._ If only Ratchet were here. Or even Knock Out._

There was an injector in the cabinet. Carefully, he took the injector in his left hand before he unscrewed the top of the container and put the needle to the liquid. He filled the vial in the injector about halfway, a wild guess on his part. He then planted the needle against the damaged metal and exposed protoform flesh at his right forearm. Pausing for a moment, doubts dancing about in his mind, he closed his optics and plunged the razor-sharp and fairly thick syringe into where he was fairly certain was a main energon line. There was a stinging pain, made all the worse by the burns and lacerations that already covered his arm. He could feel the startlingly warm substance shooting through him, carried by his life energon all the way into his chest, working its way through his spark chamber before climbing up into his head and spreading over the rest of his body.

That was when an excruciating and burning sensation filled the very core of his being. He let out a shout, one that turned to a roar as he dropped the injector. The vial loaded into it smashed at his feet. The room spinning around him, Wheeljack's one optic shot wide open, now filled with a green glow as he stumbled against the nearby bench. The sensation lasted only a moment, but even as it faded he felt reinvigorated. So much so that a smile formed at his mouth, his attention drawn to the door of the room as it slid open. A burly, silver Decepticon guard walked inside. He held an EMP shotgun in his arms and his optics noticeably widened when he saw Wheeljack looking straight at him with a bloodthirsty gleam in his one good optic.

Wheeljack vaulted over the bench and lunged for the guard, knocking him backwards through the doorway and into the corridor. Landing on top of him, Wheeljack put both hands to the weapon the guard clutched and the pair began to struggle for it. The guard's grip was strong and he managed to tilt the weapon's barrel slightly towards Wheeljack, but the Autobot Wrecker's strength had been enhanced by the synthetic energon. He turned the struggle around, putting the barrel towards the guard's head despite his grip upon the weapon. One of his hands gave way from the trigger guard and went for Wheeljack's face, pressing against his chin in an attempt to force his head away and throw off his concentration. Wheeljack put a finger to the shotgun's trigger and pulled, sending a full load of bright blue-white energy into the guard's face. His head exploded, blue energon fluid splattering every which way, some of which splashed across Wheeljack's face and chest. The guard's arms went limp and Wheeljack rose to his feet, taking the shotgun and whatever spare ammunition he could find from the now dead guard.

The killing had left him abuzz. There was something so great, he realised, about having the power of life and death over someone. Pulling the trigger on a Decepticon had never been so satisfying before, and he had done a lot of killing in the past. He felt practically godlike, and it felt_ good_.

There was a room just next to the medical bay. An observation room of sorts, looking through a thick one-way window into the room. Here, Wheeljack found his sword, left lying across a table in the corner. With that in his left hand and the shotgun in his right, he strode out into the corridor, his spark pounding in his chest. He needed someone else to kill, another Decepticon to send into the next world (if there was a 'next world' at all). He started down the grey-blue corridor, heading for an elevator at the very end. If he could get to the command centre, he could bring this whole thing down. _That would be amazing._

As he came to the elevator, a familiar voice echoed through the announcement system. Wheeljack paused in his steps, listening carefully.

_"This is Second Lieutenant Dragstrip,"_ the announcer said. Wheeljack had almost forgotten about that particular Decepticon. _"Star Saber has betrayed the General. Any soldier who considers himself loyal to both General Cyclonus and the Decepticon cause would do well to aid myself and those under my command in purging the undesirable elements, specifically those who have fallen under the sway of Star Saber and his 'cult'."_

Now, this was interesting. Wheeljack stepped into the elevator, the door sliding shut behind him as he looked to the control panel at the wall. What deck to travel to, he wondered? Where would he find the most 'Cons to kill? The command centre had to be on one of the middle decks, deep within the heart of the ship, no doubt protected by a small army of guards. Dragstrip's voice continued to echo throughout. Somewhere nearby, a chain-gun fired. Wheeljack heard it muffled through the surrounding walls. Shouting followed seconds later.

_"Star Saber intends on fulfilling a twisted, fanatical agenda that would see those who do not follow him put to death. He is an enemy of the Decepticons, and any of those who follow him are not fit to be considered as such-"_ The voice cut out abruptly, static filling the airwaves for a moment. Wheeljack remained in the elevator as it started its ascent, heading to a central deck. He could only guess as to where the command centre was on this particular cruiser. Experience told him he was on the right track. All the while he waited the ride out, his spark pounded with a newfound lust for violence. Every thought he had was on means of eliminating those who opposed him, Decepticons in particular. He found specific focus on Skystreaker, thinking about her only made him furious.

Another voice broke in through the announcement system. Wheeljack recognized this one as well.

_"This is Commander Vortex. Star Saber preaches the truth and those who do not believe, as he does and as I do, deserve nothing better than death. Take up arms, my brothers, and eliminate those non-believers who would lead you astray!"_

A full-blown civil war was about to erupt. Wheeljack could feel the anticipation building within him as the elevator came to a halt, the door sliding open onto another corridor, this one several decks up. He walked out into the hall, watching as several bolts of red energy shot by the corner up ahead. A pair of Decepticon soldiers came running around, pursued by those of the opposing side. He could not determine whether these were soldiers loyal to Cyclonus, or to Star Saber. Not that he cared, as he raised the shotgun and blasted one of them as they came running his way. The shot sheared a leg clear off of the Decepticon, just below the thigh. He went down screaming whereas the other one stopped and began shooting at him with an in-built energy cannon. Wheeljack deflected the blasts with his sword as he ran at the soldier, closing the distance quickly.

The Decepticon soldier had little time to react as Wheeljack plunged his sword into the silver-armoured gut, tearing it open and allowing energon fluid to gush out. The Decepticon shouted and fell down, clutching at himself in an effort to prevent anything important from falling out. Wheeljack, in one fluid movement, jammed the sword through the soldier's head, silencing him, before pulling it out and turning to the other one who's stump of a leg was gushing energon all over the floor. He raised a side-arm, firing, putting a hole through Wheeljack's chest. The pain was negligible, the synthetic energon numbing most of it. Wheeljack snarled in anger and sliced the soldier's head clean off, sending it rolling down the corridor.

He did not give a second thought to these two. Instead, he continued down the corridor, rounding the corner, coming face-to-face to the trio of Decepticons who had been firing on the other pair. They were mostly about his height, one was taller, with a purple and silver finish. They looked surprised when they saw Wheeljack, as a disfigured Autobot had been the last thing they had been expecting to see on board.

Wheeljack had not reloaded his EMP shotgun, so he simply kept the weapon clutched in his right hand and instead relied purely upon his sword to do his work. Having caught the trio by surprise, he was able to plunge his sword straight through the spark-chamber of the nearest Decepticon, killing him on the spot, pulling the sword free in a quick movement while allowing the corpse to clank onto the floor below. The other two took a step back and raised their weapons. The taller one fired a shot and Wheeljack ducked, the blast slamming into the wall behind him, causing an explosions of sparks and molten metal. He rushed forwards, slicing his sword across the Decepticon's chest, causing him to stumble and shout. The other one turned around with his weapon raised. Wheeljack grabbed the taller Decepticon and swivelled him around as his buddy fired, sending a blast of red energy into his gut. There was a small explosion of flame and smoke and the Decepticon grunted, but was still kicking.

Wheeljack operated automatically, his combat expertise and the synthetic energon dictating his actions. With his sword, he cut across the tall Decepticon's neck, severing an energon line and sending forth a gush of blue liquid that sprayed down his enemy's chest. Pushing him aside, Wheeljack ducked underneath a swing from the other Decepticon before pressing forwards and sending his sword into this one's face. It went straight through his head before Wheeljack pulled it up, splitting the Decepticon's head down the middle. Pulling it away, Wheeljack watched the pair slowly fall to the ground, a stunned look on the split-head of the younger one.

All around the ship he could hear weapons fire. His senses were so much more sensitive now, he realised, with the synthetic energon coursing through him. Despite having just killed five Cybertronians, his bloodlust had not sated. He needed to do more and the 'dispute' the Decepticons on board were having with one another was the perfect opportunity. If he could, he would kill every single one of them. For everything they had done to him, to his friends, to the Autobots and humans in general; for every little wrong they had committed against him and anyone he would have even considered a passing acquaintance, he would make them _all_ pay. He had purpose now, doing what he did best. He might have been wounded and disfigured; he may have been betrayed but he was back doing what he knew. Why had he bothered trying to adjust to civilian life, when really, all along his calling had been to here, to the rush of battle, to the satisfaction of cutting down one's enemies? This was what life was about. And he felt so damn _good.  
_

* * *

Jack had made his way to the rooftop, armed with a Beretta pistol and little else. He was worn and dirty, his arms and legs ached, his shirt and trousers were torn in places and he had several cuts and scrapes on his form. Nonetheless, he had pressed on after sending Van Cleef falling to his death, left hollow by the news that Miko was dead. He had made Van Cleef pay for that, not that he felt any better. Was this what it was like, to get vengeance? He felt emptier than he ever had before. Still, things were not over. There was one other man he wanted to deal with, one who he knew was pursuing him intently. And what of Rafael? Was he still alive? He could not be sure, Carver had likely killed him just for inconveniencing him.

With little other option, Jack found his way to a flight of stairs and ascended them onto the roof. Up here, a fairly strong wind buffeted him. There were air conditioning units scattered around, with a flatter area up ahead reserved for a helipad. A small set of steps lead up onto the platform, one that was currently occupied by the same helicopter he had seen buzzing by the building earlier. A pair of Taskforce operatives stepped off of it. One of them was carrying an Anti-Material Cannon. They started forwards as Jack stepped outside. He ducked behind one of the air conditioning units, the motor running in overtime to compensate for the warm weather.

If he could get to the helicopter, he might have a chance. He was no pilot, but he could always stick his gun against the Taskforce pilot's head as "encouragement". The only problem was getting there. Even now, it appeared to be in the process of taking off, its blades spinning faster and faster, kicking up dust and litter around the helipad. Above, the afternoon sun bore down upon the rooftop. Jack was already sweating from the fighting, now he would likely end up drenched in his own sweat because of the heat.

He considered his options. There were only two operatives on the helipad, and then the helicopter. The pilot might pull a gun, but if he acted quickly Jack may be able to disarm him. Plant a bullet in his arm, something of the sort. It might make him fly worse, of course, but Jack would have to take that chance.

Behind him, he could hear someone rushing up the stairs. He turned around, catching sight of a Taskforce operative running up towards him. Jack did not hesitate to open fire, planting four rounds into the man, sending his body tumbling back down the stairs, clunking down the entire flight before the two operatives up ahead started rushing for his position.

Jack stepped out of cover and started shooting. One of the operatives fell, falling off of the helipad and hitting the concrete a few metres below. The other one, carrying the Anti-Material cannon, took cover behind an air-con unit and started shouting into his earpiece. The helicopter began to ascend. Jack noticed the gun mounted underneath the front of it and quickly realised what was coming as it spun around to face him. Nonetheless, he kept shooting, shifting his aim towards the helicopter, planting a few rounds through the glass canopy. The pilot spun it away, a spray of blood indicating a hit, albeit not a fatal one.

Jack rushed forwards, firing a few more shots before his magazine hit empty. Reaching for a new one, he found that he had none. Without thinking it through, he started running forwards, rushing for the operative with the cannon, all the while the helicopter increased its altitude. It tilted its nose towards him and opened fire, the machine gun underneath spitting out rounds rapidly, the concrete near his feet exploding. He could feel them whizzing by narrowly and he altered his path, heading behind an air conditioning unit. It exploded as about twenty rounds slammed into it, sparks flying and white steam pouring forth. The operative up ahead pulled a side-arm and raised his head from behind cover, the gunshots echoing across the rooftop as Jack rushed forwards, head down. He felt a stinging pain in his left arm as one of the 9mm rounds clipped him, but he kept running, his heart pounding, the helicopter pilot working to adjust his aim. As Jack neared the operative's position, the pilot pulled up, unable to resume shooting without the possibility of hitting his own man. This gave Jack the edge he needed.

He vaulted over a short concrete wall and kicked the operative in the face, sending him falling backwards. His pistol fell out of his grip and clattered along the concrete, going out of reach. Jack used the hilt of his own pistol as a weapon, bringing it down hard on the stunned operative, breaking his nose with a sickening _crunch_. Blood gushed out and the man shouted, both hands going for Jack in an effort to throw him off. Jack did not relent, hitting the man across the head with his pistol, knocking him out cold and leaving a large gash on his forehead.

The helicopter pilot saw this and began to edge the chopper's nose down, deciding to take the chance and start shooting. Jack saw the Anti-Material cannon lying nearby, dropped by the operative he had just taken care of. There was no other choice left for him now. Acting on impulse, he dropped his pistol and dived for the large gun, both hands gripping it firmly before he scrambled back onto his feet. He rushed up the steps of the helipad, as he knew he would be able to get a better shot from up there despite exposing himself. The gun under the front of the helicopter opened fire, but Jack barely noticed as he came to a halt, his concentration focused solely on the weapon in his hands and the point at which it aimed. He thought he saw a startled expression appear on the pilot's face through the canopy, one that was fleeting, given the fact that Jack fired the cannon a split-second later.

The weapon bucked like a disgruntled mule and the noise of the shot was enough to make his ears ring. The helicopter exploded violently, turning into a fireball near instantaneously. The shockwave knocked Jack backwards, sending him falling onto the edge of the helipad, the Anti-Material cannon escaping his grip. Winded, he watched as the smouldering wreck of the chopper landed upon the helipad, clanking loudly, scorched pieces of metal raining down from above. The tail landed at the other end of the helipad, smoke wafting from the hollowed end. The smell of burning fuel hit his nostrils, as did the burning pain of yet another injury, this one an agonizing burning sensation at his left thigh. A piece of blackened metal, only as large as his thumb, had embedded itself in the flesh there. He yelped and fell to his knees, both hands scrambling for the source of the pain. He gritted his teeth and put one hand to the fragment, feeling his fingers burn as he yanked it out, blood spilling forth in return. Had it hit an artery? He could hardly tell. Then again, if it had, he would soon find out. Going faint and passing out tended to happen when one lost a lot of blood.

Smoke all around, he rose to his feet, only to stumble on his left leg as a shot of pain went up from there into his torso. Nonetheless, he pressed on, putting one foot in front of the other as he started towards the stairs leading down from the helipad. The canopy section of the helicopter was nearby, the windows blown out and the rear of the pilot's section gone. As for the pilot, there was not much left of him. Jack nudged something with his foot as he moved and he looked down, seeing that there was a severed and mostly burned arm at his feet. Any other day, this sight would have made him sick. Right now, however, he was beyond feeling anything. Aside from the aches and burns his injuries gave him, he had become numb to just about everything he saw. All he wanted to do was to sit down and rest. He was so tired, every muscle in him ached...

A gunshot rang out and he dived to the ground instinctively. Apparently it was a miss. Nonetheless, he stayed low, crawling towards the wreck of the helicopter. Smoke poured from where the engine would have been, had it been intact. He crawled behind the wreck, the bleeding and burning gash in his left thigh practically screaming at him with each move he took. His hands were covered in blood and soot. He could not be sure if the blood in question was his own, or from someone else. Or a mix of both. Another shot rang out and something blew a hole in the metal of the helicopter wreck near his arm. Curious, he peered around the wreck, catching sight of Colonel Carver who stood between two of the air-con units some distance from the helipad.

Carver had his usual straight-face on, his chrome-plated Wildey hunting pistol gripped in his hands. He was striding forwards confidently as he took aim, pulling the trigger yet again. A shot pounded into the metal near Jack's lower back. He ducked behind an air-con unit and disappeared from view. Jack could hear his footsteps getting closer. They slowed down as he approached the steps leading onto the helipad. Looking around, his heart still pounding, Jack searched for any sort of weapon he could put to use. The Anti-Material cannon he had used to take down the helicopter was several metres away and out in the open. He realised that he had nothing in immediate reach, save for pieces of helicopter.

"Darby," Carver called. He peered over the top of the helipad from where he stood on the stairs. Jack remained where he was, as it was practically guaranteed that Carver would shoot him as soon as he exposed himself. Carver lowered his head and planted his back against the wall. He was considering his approach, Jack knew this just like he knew the man.

"I know you're over there, Darby," Carver continued. "This has to end, eventually. You've given my men quite the run-around. You and your Autobot friends." He paused for a moment. Jack did not say anything. Revealing his position would be foolish and he did not feel like indulging the Colonel in some sort of argument. That was probably what the man wanted. "I still find it hard to believe that you chose them, over your own species. You do know that we cannot rely on the Autobots to protect us from what's out there?"

Jack eyed the Anti-Material Cannon. He would certainly take a bullet if he made a run for it. He reached for a fragment of blackened metal. It was warm to the touch. His fingers clenched around it. With some effort, he threw it to his left, sending it clattering across the helipad. Carver popped up and fired at it, all the while Jack got onto his feet and rushed for the Anti-Material Cannon. He could hardly run with his left leg the way it was. He dived onto the gun and grabbed it, another shot sounding out and the bullet flying over him, going through the space he had been occupying only a split-second earlier. Jack, with the cannon in his arms, scrambled off of the edge of the helipad and landed painfully upon the concrete below. Carver jogged after him, heading for the edge of the helipad. Jack crawled behind an air-con unit, keeping low while Carver's gaze scanned the rooftop. He began speaking again.

"Clever," he said. "Not as clever as I'd expect from you, of course. I didn't kill Esquivel, by the way. I'm not a barbarian." He paused, his statement hanging in the air. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. That was one less thing he had to worry about. "You probably think I'm one. I did everything I did for good reason."

Keeping low, he crawled his way around the metal base of a large satellite dish, likely used to provide satellite television to those who stayed in the hotel. He remained there, hearing Carver's footsteps as he climbed off of the edge of the helipad. Now both men were amongst the protruding air-conditioning units and their connecting tubes, as well as the short half-walls that separated sections of the roof.

"I did what I did because Earth needs to be able to defend itself. And to do that, it needs to have people like me, people willing to do what needs to be done to ensure the safety of all citizens. This nation, mired in bureaucracy and corruption, is hardly able to stand-up to rival nations let alone an alien menace." Carver moved around a corner and Jack moved away in response. The Anti-Material gun felt heavy in his hands. Heavier than usual. Using it in close quarters would likely get him killed as well as Carver. Hardly a result he wanted.

"I framed your Autobot friends because the people needed a common enemy. Cybertronians in general made a perfectly sensible choice. Autobots, Decepticons, they brought their war here. Both sides are warmongers." Carver stepped around the satellite dish. Jack moved the other way, ducking below a short wall. The Colonel must have sighted him, as another gunshot rang out. The top of the wall behind him exploded, showering cement dust onto his back.

Jack turned around and fired a shot from the cannon. It hit the satellite dish and the whole thing exploded, sparks and fire erupting from its centre. Pieces of it went flying all around. Carver ducked as sparks showered upon him.

"That's hardly sporting, Darby," Carver said. Jack crouched behind an air-con unit. Carver leaned around the remains of the satellite dish, having lost sight of him. "You have something I want. Hand it over and you can walk away. After all, I did like you, Darby. I saw the potential in you. The potential for great things." His stentorian tones carried no hint of nervousness or anxiety. He was as confident as always, despite the trouble Jack had given him today. "The Autobots obviously saw it too. Why do you think I made that offer, for you to work with my Taskforce, in the first place?"

Jack did not give him the satisfaction of a reply. He kept still, doing his best to ignore the burning in his leg. Blood was flowing all the way down, leaving a trail on the concrete underfoot. A trail that Carver had no doubt seen.

"An offer you took up happily. You made more of a difference working for me than you did for Unit-E. Apparently I misjudged you. Misjudged your loyalties to your Autobot friends. The common foe. The one that would unite us. And when facing a common foe, you need a strong leader. Someone like myself, someone who would be able to cut through all of the bureaucratic red-tape and get things done."

_So this is what it was all about? Power. Nothing but power._ Jack had thought Carver to be ambitious, he just had not expected something so extreme. All those names on the files he carried on the flash drive, of politicians and corporate CEOs considered to be 'threats' towards the Taskforce; they would likely be assassinated. Just like the President had been assassinated. All to pave Carver's way to power.

Jack kept moving. There were no real open sight-lines down here. It was all air-con units and other sizeable metal and concrete protrusions, likely containing electrical equipment of some variety. Narrow alleys ran between them all. There was a central path, leading towards the helipad, but that was the most open location here.

"It is a new age we live in, Darby," Carver continued. "We need to adjust with the times to survive. Democracy doesn't work and the masses are either ignorant or apathetic. They care more about what degenerate celebrities are doing than what's really going on in the world. I would change all that, Darby. I would make this nation something to be proud of again. I would get things done. The Taskforce will bring humanity into the new age and ensure its survival."

The road to hell really was paved with good intentions, by the sound of it. Jack put his back against a concrete partition. Peering over it, he saw Carver step into view from around an air-con block. The man fired, the shot slamming into the top of the wall, causing Jack to duck back down. Carver stepped back into cover and began to reload his pistol. He did so fairly casually, apparently not too fussed by Jack and the fact that he was carrying a large gun.

Jack crept past the central aisle that lead up to the helipad. Ducking behind another waist-high partition, he peered over it, watching as Carver stepped into view again. The Colonel fired, once, twice, then a third time. Jack was forced to duck down as the .475 Wildey magnum rounds punched into the wall, blowing out chunks of concrete. Carver stepped into cover again while Jack set his Anti-Material cannon onto the short wall and took aim. He pulled the trigger, blowing away an air-conditioning unit, sparks and metal flying outwards. Ducking back behind the wall, he pulled the thick box magazine from the bottom of the cannon. Inside was one more round, with another one loaded in the chamber. They were long and thick brass-jacketed rounds with sabot fins and an orange ring printed near their tips, likely as a means to signify their armour-piercing and explosive power. Loading the magazine back into the weapon, he looked over the wall. Carver was nowhere to be seen.

Jack rose to his feet, keeping low. Ahead, Carver suddenly appeared from around a corner. He started shooting, one shot clipping the wall near Jack's head. He stumbled backwards a few steps as concrete dust exploded before his eyes. He jumped behind an air-con block as Carver's pistol erupted again, the round punching a hole into the metal, white steam rushing forth in its wake. Jack found himself close to the rooftop's edge, twenty-four floors below him with a concrete landing to look forward to. He stopped and turned around, diving as Carver took aim his way. The shot hit the concrete barrier at the rooftop's edge, blasting a fist-sized chunk from it. Jack landed on his side, his heart pounding as Carver stepped into view, stopping several metres away. He took aim at him, his expression neutral.

"Hand over the files," Carver stated. "And we can talk this over, like civilized individuals."

Jack rose to his feet, the cannon in his arms. He looked to the Colonel and then back at the drop over the barrier behind him. He was dead either way. All that effort to get here would have been for nothing. Giving up the files would render the whole ordeal pointless, whereas dying would ensure that Carver could pick the flash drive off of his bloodied corpse.

Carver went to fire but nothing happened. The gun was empty. He looked at it in his hands, a strangely accepting gaze appearing on his face.

Jack felt a spike of anger and he levelled the Anti-Material cannon at his hip, pointing the barrel towards the Colonel. Both men stood several metres apart, weapons trained on one another. Carver looked calm, despite his situation.

"If you kill me, Darby, it will not stop what I have started." Carver sounded sure of himself. "In fact, it will likely make things worse. I will not be around to rein in the many others who would seek to implement their own agendas in the wake of what has transpired so far. There will be political division, civil unrest, anarchy. Are you willing to face those consequences, all for a dose of vengeance? Are you willing to pay that price?"

He was trying to sow doubt in his mind. Jack would have none of it. There was a long silence between the two, with only the sound of the wind blowing over the rooftop and distant traffic to be heard.

"You would ruin our only chance of survival," Carver stated. There was what sounded like an aggressive edge to his voice. It increased gradually as he spoke. "We need a strong leader. I will lead humanity into the new age, Darby. And I won't have you standing in my way."

"You're crazy," Jack spat.

"Crazy?" Carver shook his head. "No. I'm not crazy. Crazy people do what they do with very little thought, if any at all. I've thought everything through. I know what I'm doing. I know why I'm doing it. What about you, Jack? It's clear to me you haven't thought a damn thing through. You operate on your loyalty to your Autobot friends. You've chosen them over us, and for that you're an obstacle. An obstacle to progress."

Suddenly, the Colonel flicked his left arm and a small pocket pistol appeared in his hand, extending from where it had been concealed under the sleeve of his jacket. It fired once, twice and Jack felt one of the shots hit him in the left shoulder, the second one getting him in the chest. Pain shooting through him, he pulled the trigger on the cannon and heard the weapon thunder, felt it buckle in his grip, a flash escaping the end of the barrel. And then the Colonel exploded in a rush of fire and smoke, the force of the blast enough to knock Jack backwards. He hit the concrete barrier and then landed somewhat painfully on his side. Smouldering chunks of Colonel Carver rained down all around. His chest aching and blood running down his front, Jack moved up against the concrete barrier, sitting against it as he watched blackened pieces of the Colonel float down around him like bizarre confetti. A smouldering black mark had been left where the man had been standing.

"A man's got to know his limitations," Jack muttered.

Exhaustion hitting him like a freight train, he slumped back against the barrier and let the cannon leave his grip. He hurt all over, blood trickling down his chest now from his latest bullet wounds. His left thigh still burned and his face and hands were covered in cuts and scrapes. His shirt and trousers were dirty and torn. The adrenaline rush had gone suddenly, leaving him feeling drained, his strength ebbing away as he settled into place.

Still, he knew things were not over just yet. With considerable effort, he rose to his feet and started for the stairwell at the other end of the rooftop. Would there still be Taskforce operatives? If there were, would they shoot him? He half-expected to get gunned down as soon as he went downstairs, but for whatever reason that did not happen. The place, much to his relief, was deserted.

* * *

Jack stumbled out onto the street sometime later. Taskforce vehicles were abandoned here and there, while emergency vehicles were parked amongst them. Paramedics hurried about, carting injured civilians between them. And, stepping forwards, walking tall as always, came Ultra Magnus. He looked down at the wounded and weary Jack, concern crossing his metal features.

"Jack, what happened? The Taskforce people dispersed when I arrived..."

The human said nothing. Instead, he walked over to the nearest ambulance, recognizing the one who lay on the stretcher in the back. Two paramedics were crouched near him, bandaging up his wounds. Rafael was alive, as Carver had said. The Colonel had not been a "barbarian", after all.

"We're going to find Wheeljack," Ultra Magnus added. "The tracker he put on Dragstrip can lead us straight to Cyclonus' cruiser. Are you coming?"

Jack looked up at him, and then to Rafael. He saw that the younger man was awake, if only barely, and he was watching him. Jack climbed into the rear of the ambulance, the paramedics eyeing him cautiously but saying nothing. He moved alongside Rafael and looked down at him. The Autobots could continue their fight, his, on the other hand, was over.

"We're going, Raf," Jack said. He sat back against the wall of the ambulance. "We're going home."


	42. Why Does My Spark Feel So Bad?

**Why Does My Spark Feel So Bad?**

_One, two, reload._

Two more Decepticon guards were blasted down as Wheeljack made his way down the hall, heading for the command centre. Elsewhere about the ship, Decepticons loyal to Cyclonus fought with those who followed Star Saber. Wheeljack had passed by a number of small engagements and had walked over plenty of dead Decepticons, eliminating any still alive who got in his path. He was close to the command centre now, he figured as much. The layouts of ships like this did not differ too much and Wheeljack had been on his fair share of Decepticon vessels in the past. It was the sort of knowledge that came with being a Wrecker with his level of experience.

The doors to the command centre, a set of large double ones, opened as he approached. It appeared that Star Saber's followers had locked down this area, at least to those loyal to Cyclonus. Wheeljack, on the other hand, had slipped through the cracks, utilising the confusion of the infighting to his advantage. He was not entirely sure what he would do once he was inside, although he did know that if Star Saber was there he would kill him. It seemed the logical thing to do and he _wanted_ to do it, so very badly. Star Saber was likely to be in the command centre.

The doors slid open, the command centre spread out before him. It was a vast, circular room with computer terminals along the walls and a central rounded platform where the ship's commander could stand and oversee operations within. The main view-screen took up much of the forward wall. It was currently displaying a map of the region on ground level, with red markers denoting the few deployed Decepticon soldiers they had out in the field. Another display gave an interior layout of the ship, red indicating the areas that had been lost to Cyclonus' loyalists. There was no commander present. Several regular Decepticon soldiers worked at the many terminals, doubling as technicians. One of the nearest turned to face the new arrival, eyes widening as Wheeljack raised his EMP shotgun in his direction.

_One, two, reload._

The first shot took the Decepticon's right arm away, energon fluid spurting out of the severed lines and splattering across the terminal. The soldier yelped and Wheeljack put the second shot into his chest, blowing a hole through the armour, shattering his spark chamber and sending him falling backwards. Wheeljack reloaded the powerful weapon quickly, his hands working the mechanism expertly as they unlocked the break-action barrel and slipped two more of the sizeable shells into the chambers. It felt incredibly satisfying watching the spent casings go flying out as the barrels fell open, each casing clinking onto the metal floor near his feet. His one optic glowed a piercing green, his mouth curled into a grin as he swivelled around to face one of the technicians to his left.

This one did not have time to pull a weapon.

_One, two, reload._

Mechanical in his movements, Wheeljack blew this Decepticon's head away with both rounds. Reloading rapidly, his attention went to the burly silver Decepticon standing further ahead on his right. This one had shifted an arm into an energy cannon and was levelling it in his direction.

_One, two, reload._

The sound of the shots reverberated loudly through the large room. The Decepticon was knocked backwards by the force of the blasts, his armour tearing open, glowing blue energon fluid spurting out. Wheeljack moved up, a Decepticon ahead, slim and grey in colour, having pulled out a large calibre pistol. He fired, the shot going into the terminal in front of him. Part of it exploded, showering the Autobot with sparks. His EMP shotgun reloaded, he leaned around the side and returned fire.

_One, two, reload._

The first round went slightly wide, slamming into the shooter's own terminal. It erupted in a violent explosion of sparks and smoke. The Decepticon stumbled and red lights began to flash about the command centre. The second shot hit him in the left leg, blowing it away, making him fall, screaming in pain.

_One, two, reload._

Wheeljack finished him off with another shot, this one hitting the Decepticon in the chest. He fell backwards abruptly, becoming an unmoving heap on the floor. Wheeljack swivelled to his left and fired at a Decepticon who had gone racing for cover behind one of the four pillars around the central command platform. The Decepticon, a slim purple and black one with a similar build to Wheeljack, was hit in the side and went falling forwards, his own momentum putting him onto the floor several metres ahead. There he remained, a hole blasted through the side of his gut.

Wheeljack emerged from cover and made his way to what he assumed were the more important terminals. Most had holographic displays, the writing on each in the common Decepticon language. It was somewhat less poetic-sounding than the Autobot one, but Wheeljack knew enough of it to know what each terminal was telling him. As for the last Decepticon in the command centre, he had ducked behind one of the other pillars. As Wheeljack moved around it, the Decepticon, a young one by the look of it, slim and mostly silver in finish, looked at him with wide and frightened optics. He raised one hand, his mouth opening to speak.

"No..."

That was about all he got to say before Wheeljack pulled the trigger on his shotgun. The young Decepticon's outstretched hand exploded and he emitted an agonized scream as he fell onto his side, his intact hand clutching at the jagged stump. Wheeljack had no mercy for their kind, even less than usual with the synthetic energon pounding through him. Having the power of life or death over someone had never felt so great.

Wheeljack fired again and silenced the young Decepticon's screams. Stepping past his corpse, he went to a terminal before the main view-screen. He reloaded his shotgun before he put his attention to the holographic display. A warning message had appeared: NAVIGATION CONTROLS DAMAGED. BACKUP SYSTEMS INITIATED.

Wheeljack fiddled about for a few moments. Someone had sabotaged the engines, likely one of the two factions currently fighting with each other. As for where they were headed, he saw that they were going up, ascending into the upper atmosphere. He did not want that. No, he wanted them to stay on Earth. It would be simpler then, killing them all. No one had bothered putting any lockouts in place, presumably because no one expected a potential threat to breach the command centre. So Wheeljack, with a smirk on his face, keyed in the opposite direction: down. Instead of ascending, they were going to descend on a fairly stable trajectory to the desert below. That was more useful to him, and to any of the other Autobots who might still be alive. He realised now that he had no idea who else was left of his little band of fugitives. He could be the last one standing for all he knew. No one could contact him, since the ship was likely shielded by typical Decepticon jamming technology. Even if they were alive, he was on his own. Then again, that was the way it always had been, ever since he had left the Wreckers. Alone against the enemy. Up until he had fallen in with Prime and his team. Things had changed then and he was still divided on whether it had been a good thing for him or not.

Wheeljack turned around and started back across the command centre. However, a familiar figure emerged from one of the pillars, having snuck in moments earlier. He clutched an EMP shotgun, holding it in his right hand as Wheeljack stopped in his tracks, raising his shotgun in return. Both Cybertronians held each other at gunpoint, with the barrels of their weapons inches away from the face of the other.

Vortex wore an emotionless mask. A yellow combat visor covered his optics and his mouth was covered over by a grey battle-plate. Wheeljack recognized him from the meeting on Cyclonus' yacht days before. Vortex was a Combaticon, essentially making him the Decepticon equivalent of a Wrecker. Much like Wheeljack, he had a sword sheathed at his back. Both Cybertronians regarded each other in complete silence.

It ended quickly when Vortex's finger pressed on the trigger. Wheeljack reacted quickly, swatting the Combaticon's gun wielding hand aside, causing the shotgun to fire wide, blasting a chunk out of the main view-screen. Immediately Vortex countered as Wheeljack pressed the barrel of his shotgun against his neck, knocking the weapon away, causing it to go off, the pillar nearby receiving the brunt of the shot.

Wheeljack put his other hand to Vortex's gun, finding the barrel lock. Both barrels fell open and the one spent casing and the loaded one went flying out. Vortex, however, did the same to Wheeljack's shotgun, causing the shells to fly out, clattering onto the floor below. Wheeljack threw himself against Vortex and the Combaticon did the same in return, the pair with their gun wielding hands stretched in opposite directions, barrels pointing away from each other. Their free hands went to grapple with one another, each opponent predicting the other's moves carefully. The grappling took the pair up against the central platform where Wheeljack found some slight success in forcing Vortex against the edge of the raised platform. Nonetheless, he pushed him back, twisting Wheeljack's hand somewhat awkwardly, forcing the Autobot to release him. His empty shotgun fell to the floor, with Vortex retaining his hold on his own.

Wheeljack felt Vortex forcefully reverse their positions, spinning them around as they remained locked together. The Autobot hit the raised platform, his frame clanging against it loudly. Vortex pulled his empty shotgun away before thrusting the barrel forth, using it as a sort of club, one that Wheeljack deflected with his scarred right hand. With a twist, he sent the gun flying out of Vortex's grasp. It landed several metres away.

Wheeljack had not had an equal fight up to this point. He had not wanted a fair fight, he had wanted nothing more than to slaughter everyone on board this ship. Vortex was standing in the way of that. Taken off-guard, Vortex swung a punch at him, with Wheeljack leaning his head aside, causing Vortex's fist to connect with the platform instead. It clanged, leaving a dent in its place as he pulled it back and put the hand against Wheeljack's neck. The Wrecker grabbed Vortex's wrist of the hand at his neck and pulled it away, only for Vortex to shift his arm under his own and pick him up off of his feet. The Combaticon's sheer physical strength won out here. He pulled the sword from Wheeljack's back as he launched the Autobot onto the raised platform. Wheeljack kicked out, catching Vortex across the chest, making him stumble slightly, causing him to drop the Autobot before he had a chance to throw him. Another kick sent Wheeljack's sword flying out of Vortex's hands.

Wheeljack scrambled to his feet, crossing the circular platform. Vortex climbed up after him, standing across from him, his gaze set on his opponent. Slowly, he draw the mostly straight sword from his back. It was similar to Wheeljack's, but without the curve and somewhat wider. One edge was serrated. The blade glinted in the blue light emanating from the nearby terminals. Vortex would have the advantage here, since Wheeljack's blade lay off of the platform and well out of reach. Nonetheless, the Wrecker was more than happy to tear Vortex apart with his bare hands if he had to.

Vortex kicked aside the body of a dead Decepticon who lay sprawled near his edge of the platform. He held out his sword, raising it to one side of him, before he threw it away. It landed well across the room, clanging loudly upon the metal floor. Wheeljack was surprised; the last thing he expected from a Decepticon was any notion of "honour". Vortex wanted a fair fight. Wheeljack, on the other hand, did not. It appeared he would not have a say in the matter.

Wheeljack started forwards, with Vortex heading towards him in return. As they neared, Wheeljack swung with a backhand. Vortex blocked it with both his arms, knocking aside Wheeljack's own before moving in with a flurry of strikes that caused Wheeljack to take a few steps back. He swatted away Vortex's punches, throwing a few of his own, taking a few steps to his left as he did so. Vortex followed him, keeping him in front at all times, his hands moving quickly and fluidly. He threw one punch that Wheeljack caught in one hand, attempting to twist the hand in return before Vortex squirmed out of it and sent his other arm into his chest.

Wheeljack grunted with the impact and swatted aside the arm as it pulled back for a follow-up strike. He kicked out with one leg, attempting to sweep it across both of Vortex's but the Decepticon jumped over it with ease. Wheeljack took advantage of this movement quickly, one arm going around Vortex's head as he landed. Swivelling the Combaticon around, Wheeljack held him tight in a headlock, one arm around his neck while the other clutched at his face. He tore the yellow visor away, knocking it to the floor and in turn revealing the Combaticon's bright red optics. Vortex forced his way out of the Wrecker's grasp, turning to face him once again.

He lunged forwards, throwing two quick strikes that Wheeljack deflected. Vortex threw a kick that caught him in the stomach, causing him to take a few steps back, an advantage the Combaticon pressed immediately. He threw another strike with his left hand, a feint that Wheeljack figured he should have seen coming. The synthetic energon might have made him energetic, but his judgement had been impaired somewhat and what was usually an attack he would have been able to counter was something that caught him right off-guard. Vortex hit him across the face with his other hand, sending pain shooting down the disfigured half of his face. Wheeljack stumbled further backwards and Vortex pushed forwards, determined to put an end to this. He punched Wheeljack again and again, striking him in the neck hard enough to make him reel.

Wheeljack tasted energon in his mouth as he put up his arms, trying to ward off Vortex's brutal assault. He fell to his knees as Vortex continued to rapidly punch him, hitting him in the head and chest, wracking him with pain. Finally Wheeljack felt his body give way underneath him and he fell upon the edge of the raised platform, landing on his side, energon dribbling from his mouth. He groaned and rolled onto his stomach, his one good optic searching for anything even remotely

useful that may have been in reach.

He felt Vortex standing over him, looking down with a malevolent glint in his red optics.

"Get up." He said. He kicked Wheeljack in the side, sending a jolt of pain through him. The Wrecker rolled onto his back, looking up at Vortex, who had nothing but contempt in his optics.

"Get. _Up._" Vortex leaned forwards, snatching up Wheeljack by the neck, lifting him up off of the floor so that they were face-to-face. Wheeljack, at his left arm, twitched it slightly, a movement that was enough to slide out the two-pronged spearhead he had concealed there.

Vortex was about to say something when Wheeljack plunged the spearhead into the side of his neck. Surprise filled the Combaticon's optics as he pulled away from Wheeljack, his hand going to the blades stuck in his neck, blue energon fluid spurting out from around them. He emitted a pained groan and Wheeljack did in fact get up at that point, sore all over but nonetheless still active with the synthetic energon.

Rushing forwards, he grabbed the spearhead as Vortex remained stunned. Pulling it to one side, he slashed open his throat, severing the energon lines within and partially decapitating him. Energon fluid erupted forth and splattered upon Wheeljack whilehe watched with some satisfaction as Vortex fell to his knees, a shocked expression on his face before he finally fell onto his side and the last semblances of life twitched out of him. The spearhead, courtesy of Star Saber via Knock Out, jutted out of the other side of his neck.

Sore all over, Wheeljack limped his way over to where his shotgun had landed. He picked it up and reloaded the weapon, all the while thinking of the unfinished business he had left on this ship. He then picked up Vortex's sword, the weight and size of the blade having caught his optic. It was not as finely crafted as his own blade and not as precise, but it would do the job and deliver significant damage to anyone unlucky enough to be caught by its serrated edge.

The cruiser itself was well into its descent. The landing would be hard, but it would likely not be hard enough to destroy the ship. A cruiser this big and heavily armoured could take an awful lot of punishment. The main threat was if the engine core destabilized, as it could erupt with the force of a powerful nuclear bomb, something Wheeljack hoped to avoid, if only because it might claim the lives of humans on the ground. He was not all careless, even when he was high.

* * *

Speeding down a desert highway, Ultra Magnus, Doubletake and Bumblebee were each in their vehicle modes. High above, its nose pointed down and its massive engines roaring was the hulking black metal form of Cyclonus' cruiser. Ultra Magnus lead the trio, the tracking device embedded inside the Decepticon Lieutenant known as Dragstrip having brought them here. It still beeped now on the Autobot Commander's sensors, not that he needed its help anymore. The ship was coming down and would make a rough landing well into the desert. Wheeljack may have still been alive and on board and Ultra Magnus had no desire to leave him at the mercy of their enemies, regardless of how insubordinate he might have been. No one got left behind, not even a Wrecker like Wheeljack. And someone had to get to the ship and mop up the remaining Decepticons. Something had happened to drop the ship out of the upper atmosphere. Wheeljack had happened, most likely. No prison had held that Autobot for long.

"Let's speed things up," Ultra Magnus said, shifting up a gear. The road ahead went straight on for miles. There was the possibility that the Decepticons might surrender, now that their leader was dead. This was unlikely, of course, but it was a possibility Ultra Magnus could at least hope for. All the fighting today had left him tired, hurt in places, but tired mostly. Killing Cyclonus had not done much to make him feel better. He doubted killing a whole lot more Decepticons would make a difference.

* * *

Wheeljack had to brace himself for the impact. Alarm sirens were sounding about the ship now, not that many crew members were around to notice them. He held himself against a pylon at the wall of a corridor as the cruiser's underbelly connected with the desert floor, kicking up a massive cloud of sand in its wake as its momentum carried it onwards. Knocking aside rocks as if they were paper, the ship shook violently and Wheeljack fell to the floor, his feet going out from under him. A light fixture in the ceiling fell from its housing, sparks erupting from its broken connection. He rose back onto his feet, one hand against the wall as he started moving ahead, the ship rattling around him. A computer terminal at a wall ahead exploded. Someone shouted in surprise from around a corner, a Decepticon stumbling into view with a weapon drawn. He had a few smoking holes in his back, the victim of a shooting as two others came around, both slim grey ones with energy cannons for arms. Wheeljack, from where he stood, raised his shotgun and gunned one of them down, blowing a hole into his chest. He shifted his aim quickly, blowing the left leg off of the other one, leaving the Decepticon soldier to hop around ineffectually as energon fluid gushed from the jagged metal stump, a scream escaping his mouth.

The ship finally came to a rest on a desert plain, the black metal and uneven edges a stark contrast to the yellow and brown of the surrounding landscape. Wheeljack heard the screeching tearing noise of metal being torn asunder somewhere nearby as the ship hit what was likely a large set of boulders.

The wounded Decepticon ahead had fallen over. Wheeljack reloaded his shotgun quickly before walking forwards, blowing away the Decepticon's arm and the in-built cannon within. The Decepticon emitted another loud scream, one he silenced by planting his foot firmly on the Decepticon's neck, pinning him to the floor.

"What side are you on?" Wheeljack asked, his one green optic glowing with fury.

The Decepticon emitted a pained groan and Wheeljack jammed the barrel of his shotgun into his stomach.

"Are you with Cyclonus? Or Star Saber?"

The Decepticon, a youngish looking soldier if Wheeljack judged correctly, had his red optics wide open with fear. Wheeljack had to resist the urge to pull the trigger, no matter how much his rage told him to finish off this one.

"Star Saber..." The Decepticon croaked.

"Where is he?"

"He went...to the lower hold..."

"And the female? Skystriker?" Wheeljack wanted to find her. The two of them had much to 'discuss'.

"He's with her...We were told to regroup with them..."

Wheeljack nodded. He took his foot off of the Decepticon's neck. He knew what to do, at least for now. Confronting the two of them and putting an end to all this, one way or another, was all that was on his mind. As for the wounded Decepticon, he turned around and shot him, blowing his head apart before he started walking down the corridor.

* * *

The lower hold of the Decepticon cruiser known as the _Tempest_ was a vast cargo area, currently occupied by much of the ship's energon and equipment stores. Stacks of large metal crates went at least ten units high. Catwalks crisscrossed the hold at multiple levels. The rear doors had been opened to the desert beyond. A gentle breeze wafted in and worked its way through the aisles between the stacks. There were many Decepticons here, some on patrol, others heading outside.

Wheeljack had no idea what Decepticons were with who, nor did he care. He strolled through a door leading into the vast cargo hold and caught one guard by surprise. Wheeljack grabbed him with one arm, turning him around before he drove Vortex's sword through the Decepticon's back and into his spark chamber. The Decepticon died there and then, the light in his red optics dimming.

Wheeljack let his body fall to the ground as he continued down the aisle. He moved quickly and quietly, years of covert operations having given him the skills to get around unnoticed. There was some ground to cover here.

Stopping at a corner, he leaned around it and spotted two fairly average-sized Decepticons standing a short distance away, both moving in his direction, weapons raised. They were either on the lookout for soldiers from the other faction, whether that be Cyclonus' or Star Saber's, or they were aware of Wheeljack's arrival in the cargo hold. Regardless, Wheeljack waited in the shadows around the corner. The one in the lead came by and Wheeljack thrust his sword out, getting the Decepticon through the neck before a single swing took his head clean off. The other Decepticon stumbled backwards a few steps, his optics wide with shock. Wheeljack prevented him from yelling an alert by lunging forwards and driving his sword into his throat, destroying his voice-box before he pulled the blade out. The Decepticon fell against the stack of crates on the left, one hand going to his neck, his mouth opening to shout but only a low buzz escaped from it.

Wheeljack stepped forwards and put the sword straight through the Decepticon's chest, destroying his spark. Pulling the blade free, the Decepticon's body hit the floor with an echoing _clank_.

With the sword in his left hand and the EMP shotgun in his right, Wheeljack started down the aisle, keeping in the shadows as he moved. Heading towards the large opening, where he could see the desert plain beyond and the now twilight sky, Wheeljack heard voices. One of which he recognized. It came echoing from up ahead, near the exit.

"We need guards at every possible exit," the feminine voice commanded. "It is better to trap Cyclonus' loyalists inside the ship, rather than let them escape."

_Skystreaker._ Wheeljack felt his spark start pounding again. She was not far up ahead, judging by the volume of her voice. Wheeljack caught sight of a Decepticon moving across the aisle further ahead. He ducked into the shadows to one side, keeping low. When the guard had gone, he emerged and resumed his path forwards.

There was a fairly open area he saw, some distance into the cargo hold. The stacks here were not quite as close together, with a clean and wide path provided to the exit at the end of the ship. This was most likely to give room for cargo to be moved. Standing near a stack, with two guards flanking her was Skystreaker. The Seal of Nova Prime was at her back, but otherwise she looked no different than when he had last seen her, when he had very bluntly rebuffed her offer to be the "father" of whatever messed up youngling she was going to give birth to at some point in the near future.

Wheeljack emerged from cover. Both guards reacted to him, each shifting an arm into an energy cannon. The Autobot Wrecker threw Vortex's sword at one, impaling him through the spark chamber, taking him down. A shot from his EMP shotgun blew away the other one, both guards falling to the floor, dead. This just left him with Skystreaker, and whatever other Decepticons might have been nearby. He had little time then, before someone tried to come to Skystreaker's rescue.

As for the female, she turned around to face him. She appeared unfazed with the death of her escort. Wheeljack aimed the shotgun at her, one round still in the chamber.

"Jackie," she said, her mouth forming into a smile. She took a few steps towards him and Wheeljack fingered the trigger. However, something stopped him from pulling it. The fact that she was carrying what was to be his youngling was the most likely cause for this. Even through the haze the synthetic energon had put over his emotions, he found himself unable to shoot. Nonetheless, he kept his aim set on her.

"Put the gun away," she continued. She was suddenly right in front of him, close enough for her to reach out and put a hand to the gun. She forced him to lower it, gently. "We don't need it. All I want is for the two of us to be together. The heralds for a new era for Cybertron. You've known a life of nothing but war. Now's the chance to live a life of peace. To settle down, with me, and our youngling."

Wheeljack narrowed his one remaining optic. _Settling down. Kids. Peace-time. Civilian life._ He had pondered these things on-and-off ever since Optimus Prime had gone into the Well of Allsparks. Ever since life had returned to Cybertron. Ever since the war had ended and he had been put to service rebuilding, rather than destroying. And thinking about it all now, with Skystreaker before him, he realised that these things were not who he was. Whatever life he might have had before the war, that was not him anymore. He could not simply go back to it. And part of him did not want to. He was a soldier, a warrior, and he did not consort with the enemy.

"It's not my kid," he said. He raised the gun and fired, well before Skystreaker could react. Her chest exploded and she fell backwards, her optics opened wide with surprise, her spark chamber a gaping hole. Whatever other life she had carried in her was gone too, leaving her as nothing but a lifeless hulk, one that crumpled to the floor in a heap and remained there, unmoving. Wheeljack looked down at her, a gaze that was only fleeting as his mind became set on the other goal he had in mind: Star Saber. He would not be far, if Skystreaker was here.

_"Wheeljack..."_

It was Star Saber. His voice filtered through the speakers in the hold. Somewhere he stood before a terminal, speaking into the announcement system. Wheeljack stopped where he was and looked around, attempting to discern the exact source of the voice.

_"You have made a mistake. Nova Prime will rebuild our civilisation. We ruled a quarter of the galaxy before the degeneration set in. Now we are nothing but packs of squabbling nomads, moving from place-to-place, destined to repeat our mistakes. What your friends are doing on Cybertron will only result in a continuation of that cycle."_

Wheeljack stepped past Skystreaker's corpse. He looked down at her thoughtfully, and then realised that he should never have trusted her. Still, there had been something good about her. Whatever it had been, Star Saber had made sure to take it away.

_"Skystreaker was one of my own, until a traitor within the group snatched her away and put her through a cruel memory-altering procedure. He buried her true identity and with it her intended purpose in life. And now you've buried her, permanently."_ Star Saber sounded remorseful. Wheeljack had not thought he had it in him.

_"The Seal of Nova Prime reacts to those worthy of its power. It reacted to you, during the brief contact you had with it. I believe that he chose you, and Skystreaker in turn. And you have remained defiant in the face of his plans. I would commend you for that, if the circumstances were different." _There was a pause as Star Saber allowed his words to sink in. Wheeljack continued through the cargo hold, clutching his shotgun in both hands, his scarred right side throbbing painfully. _"You could be the herald of a new age for Cybertron, Wheeljack. I can forgive you for what you have done. You could join me and we can find another willing partner for you, as I believe Nova Prime still has plans for you yet."_

Wheeljack saw the control room for the cargo hold high above, looking across the entirety of the vast chamber. It had a tinted observation window and the Wrecker did not need to think over his next course of action carefully. He stopped where he was, taking aim at the window. His shotgun would likely cover the distance, but he doubted he would score a hit on the one behind the glass. Nonetheless, he would take a chance.

_"You are the warrior with uneven spirit, the one mentioned in the prophecy; treading the fine line between noble warrior and savage killer..."_

Wheeljack pulled the trigger. The shot echoed throughout the vast chamber and the glass shattered spectacularly. Star Saber stumbled backwards as shards rained down around him, the console in front of him exploding with a shower of sparks. He was some distance away and as soon as he was exposed he ducked down, ensuring that Wheeljack's next shot did not connect. Instead, the blast ripped up the bench in front of him, sending metal fragments flying.

At that moment, the far end of the cargo hold began to open up fully. The vast metal double doors gradually slid open, creaking loudly in their housings, revealing the desert outside and the darkness it was bathed in at this late hour. Moonlight streamed in and Wheeljack heard a few voices from further up ahead, echoing through the chamber as Decepticon soldiers started for the exit. Star Saber would likely be making an escape as well. Wheeljack intended to stop him.

* * *

Star Saber had seen much fighting during his time. He had fought in multiple wars, among them the latest and largest one, the Autobot-Decepticon conflict. He had not had a great stake in that fight, but he had been drawn into it anyway. It was there he had had his first revelation, so long after he had first adhered to the faith. He had seen the cycle at work and he had known from that point onwards that another war would lead them to compete extinction. What the Autobots attempted on Cybertron was doomed to failure. He was certain of this. The Cybertronian race needed him to survive. They needed the faith and they needed Nova Prime most of all. The greatest of all the Primes, betrayed by his own and banished into the void.

Leaving the control room, he started down a ramp leading for the bottom of the cargo hold. Here, he stumbled across Drag Strip, one of Cyclonus' faithful. The Decepticon soldier looked worried, even more so when he laid optics upon Star Saber.

"Holy shit..." He muttered as the Autobot bore down on him. Drag Strip raised a sizeable pistol but Star Saber swatted the arm aside before delivering a sharp and powerful blow to the Decepticon's throat. This caused him to stumble, all the while Star Saber stretched Drag Strip's gun-wielding arm across one shoulder, yanking it down so that it broke at an awkward angle. Energon spurted out of the injury and Drag Strip howled in pain, dropping his gun.

Star Saber let him go, allowing him to stumble backwards against the nearby wall. He clutched at his wrecked arm, his optics wide as Star Saber knelt down and picked up the gun. The Autobot pontiff had not been fond of guns, but this situation was a dire one and he needed the edge. Drag Strip's optics managed to get even wider as Star Saber stood up and pointed the gun his way. He was about to say something, likely beg for his pathetic life, his face one of fear. It disappeared in a flash of blue flame as Star Saber planted a shot right into Drag Strip's helm, blowing away half of his cyber-brain whilst the other half fell out of his mouth, along with a whole gush of energon and nerve fluid. As Drag Strip's lifeless corpse hit the floor, Star Saber turned around and barely gave it a second thought as he moved out into the cargo hold. He had opened the doors, allowing access to the desert outside. Somewhere amongst the tall stacks of metal containers was Wheeljack.

Lying in wait behind one stack of crates, Star Saber moved into shadow and clutched the pistol in his right hand. He stood there in silence, listening out for any footsteps.

* * *

Wheeljack worked his way through the aisles between the stacks of containers, moving slowly with his shotgun held at the ready. As he neared the exit he stopped, taking a moment to survey what lay outside. There was a long, wide trench, left behind by the cruiser as it had struck the ground and carved its way through it. Moonlight shined off of the smooth floor and Wheeljack, watching the way it seemed to shimmer as his vision moved, noticed the uneven reflection further down the aisle. It looked like the side of someone's upper torso, cast in silhouette. They were standing perfectly still, as if lying in wait.

Wheeljack moved slowly towards this corner. Star Saber revealed himself as he neared, edging around and firing a shot at the Wrecker. It struck his lower chest, the pain nullified by the remnants of the synthetic energon that coursed through him. Wheeljack returned fire, striking Star Saber in the right shoulder, causing him to stumble backwards. His hand remained clutched around his gun, even as Wheeljack planted another shot into his chest, blowing open part of his spark chamber. There was a flash of blue flame and energon fluid rushed out of the new wounds, all the while Star Saber let out a pained grunt. His face remained an emotionless mask, his mouth concealed underneath a battle plate, his sharp blue optics the only indication of what he was feeling. Judging from then, he appeared to be stunned.

He hit the container behind him, smearing it with energon before he slumped down it slowly. His optics went to Wheeljack, anger flaring within them. Wheeljack cracked open his shotgun, ejecting the spent pair of shells before he quickly crammed in two fresh ones. Star Saber, energon dribbling out of his mouth, slowly went to raise the gun he still held. Wheeljack shot him again, the blast catching the side of his head, blowing away half of his face and causing his left optic to explode. Star Saber convulsed and he emitted a sharp yelp as he writhed against the container behind him. Wheeljack watched on emotionlessly, finally putting an end to the religious zealot by planting another shot in his chest. This one hit his spark chamber, causing an eruption of blue flame as the entire thing exploded. Whatever life had been left within Star Saber was now gone.

Wheeljack reloaded his gun. Stepping past the mangled corpse of Star Saber, he went by another row of containers and down the ramp at the end. It was a relief to be outside, a relief he felt considerably as his feet hit the sand. He put a hand to the smouldering hole left by Star Saber's gun, feeling it come back sticky with his own energon. His whole body burned and his joints ached, his head throbbing if only to compound matters.

His legs gave out from underneath him and he fell to the ground, rolling onto his side before letting the shotgun leave his grip. From somewhere in the distance, he thought he could hear the sounds of engines. Cars or trucks, maybe both. He remained there as his own energon pooled around him. Rolling onto his back, his one good optic began to gaze at the night sky above. It took in this sight, even as the green glow within it died. The stars looked unusually wonderful tonight.

* * *

**END  
**

* * *

**Author's Note:** If you stuck with it until the end, I hope you enjoyed it.


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